


The Marvelous Magical McAvoys

by Happy9450



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 254,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy9450/pseuds/Happy9450





	1. "Okay, I'm saying Okay"

MacKenzie Morgan McHale – soon to be – McAvoy sat at her office desk and stared intently at two parallel  
pink lines that had appeared in the small window at one end of a white plastic stick. The thought that this was all Nina Howard’s doing came into her head, and the absurdity of her fiancé's ex-lover being responsible for her pregnancy made her lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. She was pregnant. She took a long calming breath. Under the disbelief - how had this happened so easily at her age - and the mild panic – how would they adapt their lives to the needs of a child - was a vague sense of elation that for some reason she was fighting. She should be elated, Mac thought. She and the man she loved more than life itself had apparently turned that love into life itself. Why couldn't she give in to the desire to race to Will's office and interrupt his drafting of tonight's script with the news that they were going to be parents. She knew, or felt reasonably sure that he would jump up and kiss her silly even if the whole bull pen were watching. She smiled at the thought, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes or quell her sense of foreboding. Not even Will’s ring on her finger was enough to anchor her in the here and now, and being dragged into the past, or more precisely, thinking about how she was going to deal with the past in the present was something that she simply could not face. So, tossing the test stick into a drawer, Mac resolved to put the whole thing out of her mind and get on with producing tonight’s show. 

She sighed deeply, knowing that every time she stopped moving, her mind would return to the last time she had stared at a plastic stick with two pink lines – well, not the last time precisely; that actually had been three days ago – but the last time before. A time that had begun for her in undiluted joy and anticipation and had culminated in agony, guilt and desolation so complete and consuming that she had chosen death to end it.

One Month Before -- Election Night 2012

Will and Mac had at last made it down to the garage and into the car. Their announcement that they were leaving their impromptu engagement party and going home to get some sleep before dawn actually broke had predictably been greeted with wolf whistles, groans of disbelief and a “Yeah, right; like you have sleep on your mind, McAvoy” in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Leona Lansing's. Climbing into the backseat, Mac closed her eyes and rested her head against Will's chest, joining their hands and twining her fingers between his. Exhaustion, adrenalin and champagne added to the sense of unreality that came with touching him, being able to touch him, after so long. 

Will pressed a kiss into her hair and asked Lonny to take them to his apartment. Suddenly, Mac's eyes flew open, and she gasped out, "No! I can't . . ."

Mac felt every muscle in Will's body go rigid. A look of shock and pain passed over his face that was quickly replaced by his news anchor visage. Only his eyes betrayed the struggle between the hurt, disappointment and fear that threatened to overwhelm him and his commitment to never ever doing anything that would hurt her again. "Sure, Mac. Whatever you want. Lonny . . . we . . . can just take you home. We can start slow. Have dinner. Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want. Give you whatever you want." The last came out in barely a whisper, with the unspoken "please, please just don't leave me" hanging in the air between them. To Mac, he looked like the child he used to be, hoping for his father's love but steeling himself to being savagely beaten and told he was a worthless shit. 

Although not given to public displays of emotion, MacKenzie forgot about Lonny and flung herself into Will's lap. "You, Billy. You. I want you," she said bringing her lips to his in a kiss that began with excruciating tenderness and then exploded with passion. After what seemed an eternity, Mac finally broke away and looked deeply into his eyes. "Know this, William Duncan McAvoy - I want you every minute of every day. That's never ever going to change. It wasn't you I was trying to talk about. It's your apartment that's the problem. I just can't go there. I can't be where you were with Nina. At least, not tonight or this morning or whatever it is." God, she was so tired she could barely speak.

Relief flooding his already overloaded senses, Will mumbled something about selling the apartment or gutting and remodeling it or just torching it. Fuck, he'd live in a tent in Central Park if he could have MacKenzie with him. Vaguely, he heard her say something about either going to a hotel or to her apartment. "Your apartment, well, what about . . . " he trailed off, remembering that there'd been no equivalent on her part to his parade of bimbos. It had sounded like it would be a funny thing to say in his head but it was coming out all wrong. However he could think of nothing to do but press on, and so he said, "Wade." Glancing into the rear view mirror he thought he saw Lonny actually wince. Shit. He scrubbed his hand over his face. What the fuck was he doing? 

But Mac just smiled that "You're an idiot, Billy" smile that crinkled her eyes and always made him feel loved and safe. She kissed him again. "No, never," she said softly. She didn't tell him that she had never let herself fall asleep with Wade because she could not risk having one of her frequent nightmares which almost inevitably ended with her screaming or sobbing his name. "The last man I invited to my bed was this news anchor at ACN that I used to be with." She looked at Will who seemed to be having verbal processing issues. "I'll take that befuddled look on your face as a yes to my place. Lonny?"

"Yes, Mac."

"Take us to my apartment."

"Right you are, Mac."

"Lonny," Will asked, "are you saying 'right you are' like British slang for 'your instructions will be followed' or are you expressing your agreement with Mac's objecting to my apartment?"

"What do you think, McAvoy?"

"I think I'll withdraw the question and go back to kissing Mac."

"Good move."

Mac vaguely wondered if she should mention that she was not on the pill and there were no condoms at her apartment, but birth control wasn't really something she was comfortable discussing in front of Lonny. By the time it crossed her mind again, Will's hands were cupping her breasts and his mouth was trailing kisses up the inside of her thigh and she simply lacked the willpower to do anything that would stop him. And, the truth was that she didn't want to remind him that he might have a condom in his wallet because she didn't want anything - not even a fraction of a millimeter of latex - to come between them. She wanted to touch every inch of him. After so long, she needed to feel him, feel his skin sliding against hers as he entered her. 

And it was paradise. As much, or more than the dreams in which she had fled into his arms over the years when he was lost to her. "Inside me. Inside me, Billy," she had moaned against his lips. His breath had caught in something akin to a sob when he had spread her softly and gently as she raised her hips and pressed herself against him, hungrily drawing him in. With each thrust, he whispered that he loved her, that he had never stopped, had never loved another until pure sensation robbed him of language and thought and nothing was left for either of them but the need to mate, to claim the other in that primal dance. Finally, Mac's moans became guttural, and in the first light of dawn, Will saw her eyes darken and lose focus as she reached orgasm. When he felt her muscles tighten around him in waves of release, her hips rise and her back arch with enough force to raise his body along with hers, he relinquished his tenuous hold on control and emptied himself into her. 

Will heard his cell phone buzz the soft vibrating signal that indicated a text message. As he had on many mornings over the last few years, Will awoke slowly from a dream in which he was holding MacKenzie in his arms. Half awake and eyes still shut, he began to prepare himself for the disappointment that waking fully would bring. The disappointment of a cold empty bed, or worse, the disappointment of finding another woman, even Nina, where Mackenzie should be. He felt silky hair against his cheek and an arm and leg over his torso as he moved slightly, instinctively in the direction from which the sound of his phone had come. "Umm," said a sleepy voice that for a moment made him think that he was still dreaming, "Billy?" 

"Mac!" The force of his new reality took his breath away and brought a flood of tears to his eyes that he was powerless to control. 

"Is something wrong, Will?" She murmured raising her head. 

"No. No; I don't think so. Someone just sent me a text. The sound woke me up. And . . . And, I was afraid I had dreamt you." He found the phone among their clothes on the floor, and checked the message. "Charlie, " he said, "telling us not to worry about the lawsuit or come in for the 10:00 o'clock pitch meeting. Says he and Jim will handle it. I'm to 'keep our girl in bed 'cause she deserves it.'"

Mac appeared to be blushing. God, she really was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in real life. "Will," she said, frowning, "Charlie must be talking about sleep; right? He wouldn't actually send a text telling you to make love to me, would he?" 

In a New York Minute, Will thought, but he said, "No, I'm sure Charlie means you should sleep in this morning."

And so she did. Right after they finished making love for the second time.

It was in the shower, as Will was washing her back and she didn't have to look at him, that she brought up the fact that she wasn't taking the pill or using any method of birth control. "It seemed unnecessary - putting chemicals and hormones in my body after I gave up on the idea that moving on was a realistic objective and resigned myself to living a life of unrequited love and maybe eventually adopting cats. I really should have told you last night, but I don't have any condoms here, either, and I didn't want you to stop." The last part came out in a guilty, barely audible whisper. 

"I suppose that I should be flattered that you think I have that much self-control." Will chuckled, turning her around, raising her chin with his finger, and giving her a long deep kiss that made her give a little moan as they parted. They finished the shower in deference to the time and need to show up at ACN with more than ten minutes to airtime, although Will thought that with a little encouragement he could have taken her again. Instead, he had settled for using his hands to pleasure her and tease her under the warm spray until he heard her cry out and shudder against him in release. 

As they were drying off, Mac brought up the subject of birth control again.

"Truth is I didn't say anything because I thought that you might have a condom in your wallet and I didn't want to remind you. Not because I want to get pregnant," she added quickly when he started looking at her strangely, "but I just didn't want anything to come between us." He felt afraid to ask if she wanted children. She had wanted children once, he remembered, before. He had asked her oh so casually if she ever thought about having a child. She had told him that she hadn't been one of those little girls who wrote lists of names for imaginary children in the back of their composition books, or really given it much thought at all. Then, she had looked at him with an intensity that had stolen his breath and said softly, "Until lately. I've thought lately about your child. I think I'd like to have a child with you, Billy." He wondered if she had any idea how much he loved it when she called him, Billy.

He was so lost in his musings and memory that it took him several seconds to comprehend that Mac had continued speaking, " but . . . I'm not very regular and I don't keep a record, but I think that there's a credible threat that this could be the right time or the wrong time, I guess would be more accurate." He smiled slightly at her choice of the words, credible threat. The same words that she had used the day before - Christ, was it just the day before - in the Hair and Make-up Room to describe her desire to hit him when he had told her the ring that was now on her finger had served it's nefarious purpose and been returned to Tiffany's. What an ass he had been.

Drawing his mind back to the subject at hand, he said, "I'm sure I do have a condom somewhere. Actually, I'm Mr. Condom. Never leave home without 'em. However . . . ." Wrapping his towel around his waist and putting his hands on Mackenzie's shoulders, he looked into her eyes and continued, "MacKenzie Morgan McHale McAvoy, no force on earth could have stopped me from making love to you last night and this morning, and nothing would have made me put on a condom. Let me see if I can make this more clear. Mac, Nina and I didn't break up over the morning show appearance . . . "

"Seriously, Will," MacKenzie interrupted. "You're going to talk about Nina to me now? This morning? In the middle of this conversation? Let me tell you something - when I first came back to ACN and you told me about how when you'd close your eyes, you'd see . . . Brian and . . . well, I thought you had gone completely mental. But I don't think that anymore. Since Nina, I understand it perfectly, thank you very much."

"Mac, just let me finish." She raised her eyebrows skeptically and lowered her chin a tad, causing Will to chuckle softly. "That's exactly the expression you gave me when I finished the story about the kid shredding paper, and that conversation turned out okay; didn't it? Just bear with me for a minute." However, Will did decide to take a slightly different tack. "For the last few years - well ever since you - I've used condoms with religious devotion. I've claimed that a man in my position simply couldn't take the chance of an unwanted pregnancy, but I was way beyond careful. I could have been shown irrefutable documentation that the woman in question had had a hysterectomy and it wouldn't have made a difference."

"Well, the safe sex people would have been proud of you."

Will ignored her. "Anyway, after a while, it began driving Nina crazy. She insisted that she didn't want a child anymore than I did and made a great show of taking the pill."

"God!" Mac interrupted again, "to think it never even occurred to me to torture myself with the idea of you becoming a father with Nina - can't imagine how I missed that one."

Still ignoring her, Will soldiered on, "Finally, one evening about a week or so before the morning show debacle, she brought it up again and completely lost it. She screamed at me that my insistence on using condoms had nothing to do with birth control; that my always wearing one was - and I quote - a sick twisted way of saving myself for you, of never really touching anyone until I could touch you again."

"What did you say?" Mac whispered, her eyes wide with the effort of taking it all in.

"I told her that while I disagreed with her assessment of my motives, the situation was simply non-negotiable. She threw the wine glass she was holding at me and walked out. So, I spent the night on the balcony, playing songs we used to listen to; songs I used to sing to you, and wondering why I kept making choices that made me so fucking miserable. I realized that I felt relieved that Nina had left, and that I needed to break up with her, and that she had been absolutely dead on about what I had been doing. I didn't want to touch anyone if I couldn't touch you, and I needed to stop kidding myself." 

He paused, and took a step closer. "So, Mac," he said cupping her chin in his hands, turning her face up to his, and dropping into his impression of James Earl Jones, "if the Angel of The Lord God Jehovah had entered your bedroom this morning, tapped me on the shoulder, and spoken, 'Verily, I say unto you, William McAvoy, if you do not put on a condom you will impregnate this woman,' I would have thanked him for the head's up and asked him to please give us back our privacy." He loved the little smile that played over her lips, so he kissed them lightly. He leaned down further, and began kissing her throat, behind her ear, punctuating each word he spoke with a kiss, "Therefore. I. Take. Total. Responsibility. For. Whatever. Happens. Next."

"There is the Plan B pill," Mac said softly against his shoulder. "If we want to be really responsible, we could . . . I could . . . go by the chemist and get one." Will continued to nuzzle her neck, thinking about how delightful it was that despite her insistence on being American, when Mac was nervous or insecure, she got medicine from the "chemist," lived in a "flat," and people went "mental" or "fancied" each other. 

"What?" he asked, pulling back to look at her.

"The morning after pill. I'm saying that I should probably take one to be on the safe side."

"Okay. Sure. Whatever you want," Will replied rather flatly, distracted by trying to figure out where his strong visceral dislike of the idea was coming from.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Billy!" Mac exploded pulling away from him and hastily donning a robe in a soft deep blue material that he was pretty sure was cashmere. "Don't tell me that you've grown so conservative in your old age that you no longer distinguish between a pill that keeps a microscopic ball of chromosomal material from implanting and a partial-birth abortion!" Nothing, Will thought, was more spectacular than MacKenzie McHale in high dudgeon. 

"Me, conservative? Don't you read Page Six? I've been bewitched by my EP into a fucking flaming liberal!" God, he loved fighting with her, especially when she was naked under a kitten-soft robe. The idea that he could do it every morning for the rest of his life seemed like the greatest blessing a benevolent deity could bestow. But the instant that thought passed through his brain, it was replaced by Charlie's voice telling him to seize happiness with MacKenzie "on the off chance that you're not going to live forever," and he felt the years of mornings with her that he had missed - squandered - nursing his pain like some precious poison - and felt the loss of them so acutely that he had to blink back tears. "Seriously, Mac, I have no political, ethical or religious objections to the morning after pill," Will said a bit more subdued than he had intended.

"But?" Mac lowered and tilted her head sideways in a gesture that invited him to continue, while demonstrating that she was unsure of what was going on.

"No, buts. It's your body. You should do whatever you want."

"God," Mac groaned, thinking that if Will said whatever you want one more time in the next 24 hours she might just scream. "What I want is to understand what going on with you. What I want is to discuss this situation openly and honestly like two mature adults and maybe come to a consensus about what we want. What I want is . . . " Suddenly and inexplicably she was overcome with emotion. Eyes glistening, she turned away from him embarrassed and unwilling to take her thoughts any further.

"Okay," Will took a deep breath and reaching out, he turned her around and wrapped her in his arms. After a second, she relaxed and nestled against him, with her head tucked under his chin in that way they had of fitting together so perfectly it was like their bodies had been created for each other. "What I feel is pretty much just gut. It isn't about politics or morality; it's about us. If there is a microscopic ball of chromosomal material, it's you and it's me. Those chromosomes are fighting it out over whether to have your eyes and my chin . . . or . . ." He felt Mackenzie's intake of breath and slight shudder, but when he pulled away to get a look at her, she was smiling back gamely with the practiced expression she had perfected to cover her pain during his years of punishing her. "What?" he asked gently.

"Nothing. Really. Nothing. Please continue."

He could tell it wasn't the time to press her, so continue he did. "So, if I have a vote . . . "

"Of course you do, Billy."

"Then I vote no Plan B pill."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'm saying okay."

"You're saying, okay?"

Mac laughed softly, and Will was relieved to see genuine pleasure in her eyes. "I think this is where you say, thank God, and kiss me."


	2. The Director of Morale

And kiss her he did.

Lonny arrived shortly thereafter with a neatly packed duffle of clothes and toiletries for Will. Mac let him in and then returned to the bedroom to give Will his things and finish getting ready. When Will came into the living room after dressing, he found Lonny intently contemplating a photograph in a silver frame. Will saw that it was a young woman with a girl of about nine or ten and a boy close to two. The dark-haired girl, in unruly pigtails and riding breeches, was sitting balanced on a fence rail, holding a blue ribbon and beaming at the camera with a gap toothed, crinkle-eyed smile that Will would know anywhere. The hand that was not holding her award rested on the shoulder of her small companion, an adorable toddler with blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Perhaps, no assuredly, as a result of the morning's conversation, Will felt suddenly uprooted in time and transported into the future, feeling as if he were looking at a photo of his own children. Would his daughter have the same way of smiling that MacKenzie did? Would her hair too refuse to stay tucked up for long in ponytail or plaits? Would his son be blonde and rosy like the boy in the picture, trusting and guileless and sure that the world was a kind and gentle place? While Will stared at the children lost in his time warp, Lonny was equally captivated by the image of the young woman on the other side of the boy. Obviously his mother, she steadied him on his perch with a tender grasp, just tight enough to keep him from falling without taking away any of his obvious joy at being a big boy sitting there beside MacKenzie. Blonde and wind blown, in a gauzy linen skirt and sandals, she shyly eyed the photographer from one of the most recognizable faces ever born. 

"Is Mac royalty?" Lonny inquired in a reverential tone that Will had never before heard him use.

"Uh? Oh. No. Nobility. Her father's a peer." Then raising his voice, Will called out, "Hey, Mac, this picture out here . . . that really is . . . "

"The Princess of Wales and Wills? Yes. Daddy took it. Mummy found it cleaning out some of my old things and framed it as a birthday present." Will and everyone else at News Night had grown so used to Mac's posh accent and $850 shoes that it was easy to forget how different her upbringing had been from theirs. Will suspected that Lonny wanted to ask more but was intimidated, so he continued, "did you hang with royalty on a regular basis?"

"Not really," Mac answered, walking out of the bedroom, dressed uncharacteristically for her, in silk slacks, blouse and a cashmere sweater that Will remembered she'd call a "jumper," if she forgot to be American. Mac was intent on clasping the gold coin necklace that Will had given her years before and with which she had tortured him almost daily since her return to ACN. "Diana wasn't born royal, remember. She was a Spenser, and my family have known the Spenser's for eons." Mackenzie looked sadly at the beautiful woman in the picture. "She made some mistakes, but she did well by her boys. They are good men because of her. You know that William fought for Kate because of his mother, and somehow made HRH fall in love with her too." Mac shook her head slightly, "Two generations from a coal mine to the throne of The United Kingdom. How twenty-first century can you get? Diana told her sons that their most illustrious relative, and the one of whom they should be most proud, was not a monarch but Winston Churchill . . . A woman after my own heart."

Again, Will mused at the contradiction that was MacKenzie McHale, unselfconsciously employing the upper-crust nickname for the Queen -- he'd once had to ask who "HRH" was after a McHale family dinner -- and being, Lonny had told him, the first white female client who had ever ask him to call her by her first name. Lonny put down the picture carefully and looked contemplatively at Mac. After a moment of silence, Lonny's lips curved up and he found his voice. "How did a classy blue blood like you fall for a no-good lowlife from Nebraska like him?" he asked, gesturing towards Will.

"Trust me, Mr. Church," MacKenzie replied, giving full vent to her upper class drawl and sounding for all the world like the Queen giving her Christmas broadcast, "There have been many many days on which I have asked myself that very question almost hourly." With that, she swept up her coat, gloves and briefcase and started for the door. Lonny scrambled to extend his arm, which she took, leaving an amused Will to follow in their wake.

 

MacKenzie had feared that it would be uncomfortable entering the newsroom at (oh, God, really) almost noon. To be honest, she felt like she was wearing a sign that said, "I've been well and truly laid by Will McAvoy." But it turned out that the bullpen was a hive of frenzied activity, where she was almost immediately swallowed up by people pressing her for decisions on sequence, format and graphics for the November 7, 2012 edition of News Night. Only Will's running his fingers lightly down her cheek as they parted, and the late hour of their simultaneous arrival signaled that a sea change in their lives had taken place. There were a few extra-broad smiles and glances at her ring, but in the main, the staff appeared to be taking the advent of Mac&Will 2.0 in stride.

With an hour and a half to go to broadcast and the order and content of the blocks pretty well set, Mac was closeted in her office with a cup of coffee, getting a few moments' peace, when after a sharp knock, Sloan burst in. "So, spill. What was it like?"

"Excuse me? What was what like?"

Sloan rolled her eyes. "Come on, Kenzie. You know. With Will. I can't even imagine what an orgasm after two and a half years of foreplay would be like."

Mac who had just taken a sip, inhaled coffee and began to choke. "Foreplay?" she sputtered, "Is that what it was? Cause it sure didn't feel like it most of the time."

"Are you kidding? The sexual tension meter in the bull pen blew a gasket the first time you and Will laid eyes on each other the day of the Deepwater Horizon spill."

"You mean right when he'd gotten back after paying a million dollars and agreeing to terms that constituted career suicide in order to be able to fire me at the end of every week?"

"Well, yes; but no one ever thought he would really do it. Sometimes, I'd catch him looking at you across the bullpen . . . One time, during the period you were dating Wade, he was actually wiping tears from his eyes."

"Oh, Billy," Mac sighed softly thinking of the time they had lost.

As if reading Mac's mind, Sloan said, "he just couldn't get his shit together any faster, Kenz."

"I know. I guess it's what comes from having your father convince you that the only thing you're good for is being a punching bag."

"Kenz! His father beat him?" Sloan looked down at Mac, her expression shocked and appalled.

MacKenzie looked equally appalled but for a different reason. "You didn't know!" It was a statement not a question. "Oh, God, don't tell him that I let that cat out of the bag too." Then, in for a penny, in for a pound, she continued, "Yes, his father beat him savagely, starting when he was a toddler and continuing until he was ten or eleven and big enough to protect himself, and his mother and younger siblings."

"Kenzie," Sloan began, speaking slowly and deliberately and moving closer to the side of Mac's desk and the seated woman, "he's never . . . "

Comprehension dawned and a look of horror came over Mac's face, "hit me? No! No, Sloan . . . " Mac grabbed both of Sloan's hands and shook them, "I know all about the likelihood of the abused becoming an abuser, but Will's done a lot of therapy . . . He's the most gentle man I've ever known. He can't even bring himself to be rough . . ." Mac let that thought trail off. "Look at me, Sloan, if there is one thing that I know is truth in this life, it's that Will McAvoy will never ever raise his hand to his wife or to his child."

"Okay, Kenzie. I believe you, and, really, I do trust Will. And we've all known how much he loves you since the Rudy hug . . . You two just fit together so perfectly . . . "

"The Rudy hug?" Mac interrupted.

"Yeah, that's what we all call it. You know, Valentine's Day last year. There's no way you've forgotten."

"No, I haven't forgotten," Mac said softly, lost for a moment in the memory of Will's arms going around her after he'd figured out that she had orchestrated the staff to recreate the jersey scene with contributions to Kaleed's ransom. How good it had felt to hold him and how hard she had fought to hold back the tears until she could get home and let them flow. For some reason that memory prompted her to very uncharacteristically answer Sloan's original question. "What was it like? It was like being worshiped. It was like coming home after years of wandering in the wilderness. It was finally being free. Nothing was off limits anymore. I've been hiding my feelings for so long, Sloan, I don't think I truly realized how exhausting it was until last night. It was being able to truly rest for the first time in years."

MacKenzie's eyes were glistening, and Sloan enveloped her in a impulsive embrace. "I'm so happy for you, Kenz, and for Will too. You are both such good people. You deserve this and years and years more of happiness." Mac's throat felt so tight she wasn't sure she could manage an answer. Luckily, she was spared from trying by Jim sticking his head in the door and telling them he had been sent by Charlie to bring them to the conference room.

 

While Sloan had been keeping Mac occupied, Will finished reading the Dantana complaint and stormed into Charlie's office.

"What kind of shit is this?" he demanded, slamming the paper down on Charlie's desk.

"From the smell and consistency, I'd say, human," Charlie replied, deciding that affecting a calm that he didn't really feel was the best way to get his boy through this.

"This is such a poorly written piece of crap it's hard to tell what he's saying except of course that it's all Mac's fault," Will fumed.

"Did you expect anything different? She's the EP of News Night and the obvious target. I've got to say that all things considered, you came through just in the nick of time."

"What do you mean?"

"I expect she's going to take this pretty hard," Charlie said, gesturing to the complaint. "We'll all rally around her but I was worried that nothing was going to really get her mind off of it or make her see that it's not her fault. Then, you woke up, and . . . ". Charlie made a twirling gesture with his hand like a magician finishing a trick. "Nothing she could get out of a bottle of booze or a bottle of pills . . . "

"Which she wouldn't take . . . "

"Which she wouldn't take, or from any of the rest of us can comfort her the way you can. You can give her freedom from this mess; take her to places Jerry Dantana and his slime can't follow; restore her mind and spirit."

Understanding Charlie, Will's thoughts went to MacKenzie that morning, writhing beneath his fingertips and mouth, her hands fisted in his hair and her beautiful lips open and gasping from sensation and arousal. Warm desire kindled in the pit of his belly as he began to press uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans. Shifting in Charlie's visitor's chair, Will picked up the copy of Dantana's complaint, and opened it to a page he had marked. His spirits sank. More effective than a dose of cold water, he thought wryly.

"Has she read it yet?" Charlie asked.

"No, I don't think so. She's not had much free time since we got here and she's not big on reading legalese.

"Good. Let's keep it that way for as long as we can."

"Charlie, what I'd like to know is where this shit is coming from. There are paragraphs here," Will gestured to the open document, "that, garbled as they are, seem to suggest that Mac tried to kill herself in Kabul. She wasn't even in Kabul. Iraq and Peshawar and Islamabad - and they get to all that too - but I don't see where they are coming from about Kabul. Is this TMI? Are they just making this crap up?"

Charlie studied Will for a long melancholy time before speaking. "She was in Kabul. I sent her there."

Will gaped. "Mac? You sent MacKenzie to Afghanistan?"

"She came to me about two months after . . . she resigned as your EP. She was still under contract with ACN and she asked me to help her. Said she needed to get out of New York for a while. She looked physically ill. She'd lost a lot of weight and looked like she hadn't slept in . . . I was scared. I was afraid that she'd . . . Of what she'd do to herself if she stayed in New York." Charlie stopped speaking as Will closed his eyes and tried to keep breathing evenly. "I'm sorry," Charlie whispered.

"No, tell me." Will commanded fiercely.

"There was this segment about to start production in Kabul for some feature that D.C. or L.A. was doing. It was scheduled for a week of set up and then two weeks of filming. I made a deal with her. I told her I'd get her the EP slot on the segment, if she would allow me to arrange her transportation so that she'd spend the three weeks before set up with her parents. I figured that Margaret could coddle her and put some meat back on her bones."

"What happened?"

"She did the segment. It was Mac. It was brilliant and professional. Everybody was happy with it, as I recall."

"Did she come home?"

"No. She called me and said that she had been offered the embed by CNN and asked me to let her out of her contract. I tried to talk her into coming back. I thought maybe I could get you to . . . But she panicked when I suggested it. She was sobbing and begging me to let her go, so . . . " Charlie made a helpless gesture.

Will just nodded and slowly lowered his head into his hands.

 

When Mac, Sloan and Jim got to the conference room, everyone was there, including Rebecca, Reese and Leona. The time had come to resolve the issue that had been left open at each of the earlier rundowns - whether to report the Dantana lawsuit, and if so, what to say. Will had said that he wanted time alone to write something, and Mac figured that the sheet of yellow legal pad by his hand meant that he had finished. They debated the ethics of not reporting it - it really didn't satisfy Mac's test for newsworthiness - against the downside of appearing to be sweeping their own mistakes under the rug. The consensus was that Will should make a brief acknowledgment of the filing at the end of the broadcast. But, when Mac asked him if he wanted to share what he had written, Will said that he didn't want to review his statement with the group, that it would be better if he did it fresh in front of the camera. Ignoring Mac's frown of concern, he suggested, and it was agreed that he would work with Rebecca to finalize the words with which he would close the broadcast.

The show went smoothly. Most of the emphasis was on the aftermath of the election and the political ramifications of the Petraeus resignation, with just enough background on the scandal to keep Reese from storming the newsroom. They went to the final commercial. As the countdown to air began, Mac took a deep breath and said softly into her microphone, "Okay, come on, do it for me, Billy."

Although it was a sentence that she had used before, this time, Will thought, yes, yes, this is for you, Mac. You, who did nothing wrong.

"Before we end this broadcast, I want to acknowledge what many of you already know, that a former Senior Producer in our Washington bureau, Jerry Dantana, filed suit this morning against Atlantis World Media and Atlantis Cable News. In that suit, Mr. Dantana alleges that he was wrongfully singled out for termination for his role in the production and airing of 'Operation Genoa,' an erroneous segment by News Night that reported that U.S. Special Forces used sarin gas during a rescue of military personnel being held captive in Afghanistan. He alleges that others here at News Night, particularly Executive Producer MacKenzie McHale, bear responsibility that was equal to, if not greater than his, and that her actions, not his, were primarily responsible for the airing of this admittedly erroneous report." 

"Without question, the worst sin that a journalist can commit is the fabrication of information and the knowing presentation of fabricated information as fact. After a thorough investigation by independent counsel, ACN and its parent corporation have elected to fight Mr. Dantana's allegations; to put the evidence of what occurred here at News Night before a jury made up of 12 citizens of New York. We do this because we believe that the evidence will establish that Jerry Dantana, and he alone, committed this sin by altering raw footage of a witness's statement in order to convince his colleagues here at ACN to air the Operation Genoa report. We believe that the evidence will show that this act, and this act alone, was the material, direct and proximate cause of our presenting to you, our viewers, a report that was critically and fundamentally false."

In the silence of the bullpen, Charlie stood beside Rebecca, intently watching the monitor. She turned to him with a triumphant smile and whispered, "Dantana can't sue us for stating our opinion of what the evidence will show."

"Was this your idea?" Charlie whispered back.

"Wish I could claim it. No, it was his. Your guy's brilliant." Together, they turned their attention back to Will.

". . . As for Ms. McHale's alleged role in airing the Operation Genoa report, we believe that the evidence will establish that her only mistake was believing the best of a colleague, believing that no one connected with ACN would do what Mr. Dantana did. As soon as it came to her attention that the witness in question claimed that his statement had been distorted, Ms. McHale immediately instituted an investigation, and upon discovering Mr. Dantana's actions, directed me on behalf of News Night to retract the Operation Genoa report. We believe that the evidence will establish that no one in her position could have done anything more to either prevent the report from airing or respond ethically and responsibly to the discovery of our error. 

"Therefore, we welcome the opportunity that this lawsuit provides to speak the truth, and, we hope, by speaking the truth, regain your trust. Thank you. I'm Will McAvoy. Terry Smith is coming up next with the Capital Report from Washington."

At the words, "and we're clear," the bullpen erupted in wild applause. As Will had instructed before the broadcast, the audio and video feed from camera one into the control room was left live. Will looked directly into the lens and said, "You are my closest friend and my most trusted partner. I will love you with every breath in my body until the day I die."

Mac choked back a sob as Don Keefer's arms encircled her. Through her tears she said softly, "Well, I guess maybe there was something someone could do after all."

Sloan walked to the news desk where Will sat, still gathering himself. "Don's got her," she said simply. Will nodded. "You done good, bro, real good."


	3. This Is What I Want

November 29, 2012

Denise Barrington, one of the foremost female Fellows of the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, hung up the phone, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She wished she had a better idea of what was going on with MacKenzie McHale. She had had many patients over the last 30 years, but few had touched her heart the way Mac had. She had been Mac's doctor since the young journalist had arrived in New York, bright, energetic and idealistic, to take her first job at ACN. Mac had returned to her practice after her time in the Middle East. Denise hadn't been sure that returning to News Night was a wise move, but Mac had seemed to do fine. Not that Denise had seen that much of her, as Mackenzie was notoriously bad at scheduling and keeping the routine 6-month check ups Denise required of her healthy, non-pregnant patients. Now, Mac, four months overdue for a check-up, had made and broken two appointments in the last two weeks. 

In the three telephone conversations that the doctor had had with her since Mac had called on November 8th asking if Denise would phone in a prescription for birth control pills ("No, not without seeing you; you're overdue for your check-up"), Denise had been able to tease out the fact that Mac had apparently met someone on Election Day (Mac had been very evasive, saying only that her need for the pill was "sudden" and "unexpected" and Denise really didn't feel that it was her place to pry). Uncharacteristically, it seemed to Denise, Mac had been swept off her feet and gone to bed with the mystery man that night. Although she had made two appointments to be checked out and given a birth control prescription, events in Syria had taken precedence both times. Today, Mac had admitted that she had been having unprotected intercourse with some frequency. Denise rubbed the bridge of her nose. Mac was now "a bit late" starting her period, but was certain there was an explanation that didn't involve the obvious ("I've had lots of cycles that were 31 or 32 days." "Mackenzie, you said yourself, this is more like 38 or 40." "At what age does menopause usually begin? " "A lot older than you are, honey."). 

Denise Barrington sighed. Mackenzie had no coherent explanation for why she hadn't employed condoms, sponges or foam, all of which Denise reminded her were readily available at any drugstore. What was going on? It seemed obvious that consciously or more likely subconsciously, MacKenzie McHale was trying to get pregnant and had very likely succeeded. But with someone she had just met? This was totally unlike the usually level headed journalist. Denise had seen Mac at her most self-destructive, and this didn't feel like that either. There was no desperation in Mac's voice. Only, it seemed in her behavior. Was this a reaction to the biological clock? A decision to have a child on her own that she couldn't make consciously so she had orchestrated an "accidental" pregnancy. Even that seemed unlike MacKenzie who usually insisted on facing things straight up. 

Well, they would soon see. The deal that she had made with MacKenzie was that Mac would get two home pregnancy tests and take them three days apart. She would also make an appointment to come in and be seen for a time in the next two weeks that she would keep on pain of having the good doctor show up at ACN and drag her away. Mac would call with the test results and if they were both negative, Denise would call in a prescription for birth control pills to Mac's local drugstore.

 

By November 29th, Will was positive that MacKenzie was long overdue for a period. A look at the Mayo Clinic website, which provided a competent refresher to his freshman biology unit on the female reproductive cycle, had confirmed his suspicions. Since then, he'd found himself spending more and more time on the internet. In place of his nocturnal surfing of advice-to-the-lovelorn websites, which had obviously ended on Election Day, he now found himself surreptitiously spending free moments at the office surfing websites devoted to pregnancy and fatherhood. He found one that allowed him to click through a simulation of the weekly changes in a woman's body from conception to birth, and found to his chagrin, that imagining MacKenzie's body swelling with their child was an incredible turn on. He thought that this might be slightly perverted, and consoled himself with the knowledge that imagining Mac reading from the dictionary turned him on too.

In fact, being turned on at work - or more precisely being aroused during a broadcast - was getting to be something of a problem for him. Having Mac's voice in his ear had always made his heart leap and his emotions well up, even when he was loathe to admit it. But now, hearing the same voice tell him to "start wrapping it up" at 8:50 that would be whispering by midnight about how good he felt inside her was frying his circuits. He's like one of Pavlov's dogs with a dinner bell, Will reflected. Ring it, and he salivates. Indeed, this problem had led to the biggest public fight he and Mac had had since reconciling. 

Will had gotten very good at reading from the TelePrompTer with an erection, and even at ignoring one well enough to competently conduct a contentious interrogation, ops, make that guest interview. But, a few nights ago, for some reason, he kept losing focus during a routine report on a minor incursion in the Syrian civil war. Thoughts of undressing Mac and the ache in his groin kept intruding and destroying his concentration. The more Mac tried to coach him from the control room, the worse it got, until he was driven to commit the cardinal sin of removing the earpiece, and thus her voice, a full two minutes before the conclusion of the broadcast.

Don, who had taken to hanging in the control room with Mac if he didn't have to be prepping for Elliott's show, got to Will while he was still at the news desk. "She's on her way. I'd stay behind that desk if I were you. Oh, man, are your balls going to be toast," he told Will with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

"Well, that will be nothing new," Will retorted without thinking.

Getting the picture, Don started to laugh, "Are you fucking kidding me? That was the problem!" Laughing harder and harder, wheezing, with tears leaking from his eyes, Don supported himself on the desk, and choked out, "Please, please can I be around when you explain this one to her?"

Before Will could answer, Mac appeared, cold fury on her face. "Sorry to interrupt the frat party," she glared at Don, who held up his hands in surrender and defense. "What the fuck is going on here?" she shouted at Will.

"In my office," he replied in his most commanding newscaster voice. "Her, not you," he directed at Don in a steely tone. Don gave Will the same gesture he'd given Mac, and then cracked up again as they walked away.

As soon as the office door closed, Mac whirled on Will, "Okay, what the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"It was your voice. Your voice in my ear does this to me," he said taking her into his arms and pressing his erection up against her belly.

"Really?" Mac asked in a voice that purred with seduction. "Wow, that's so flattering." She gave him an open mouthed kiss, inserting her tongue and running it around his. Then, deepening the kiss, she reached between them and stroked his erection, which was now iron hard, and cupped his balls. Will could not believe his good fortune, and was starting to relax when Mac broke away from him, grabbed the lapels of his suit and hit him as hard as she could with her forearms.

"What the hell are you, Billy, seventeen?" Mackenzie bellowed.

"Apparently, Mac," he shouted back at her.

Still wrinkling his lapels in her hands, she attempted to shake him.

"Hey, careful. This suit still belongs to Armani."

"Fuck Armani," she virtually screamed. "Will, you need to get a handle on this because I intend to be both your lover and your EP for the foreseeable future. So, be clear on this, I don't care if you end every show with terminal blue balls, don't you ever, ever even think about taking me out of your ear again. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, and with one final shove, she released his jacket and stormed back out into the bullpen.

Where she was greeted by a stunned and total silence. Taking a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and keeping her head high, she walked to her office with all of the dignity she could muster. As soon as her door closed, she heard Neal Sampat's voice inform everyone that he would shortly have a petition on his desk for signatures, asking Charlie, Reese and Leona to install sound proof glass in the newsroom. As Mac felt a smile come to her lips, she thought that, God, she really loved them all.

 

So, on November 30th, Mac bought and took the first home pregnancy test. Then, she called Dr. Barrington. Told that the doctor was with a patient, Mac requested that Denise call her back. The call came in the middle of the afternoon rundown meeting.

Looking at the caller ID on her phone, Mac explained hastily that she needed to take this one, and excused herself from the conference room. "Dr. Barrington," she said, walking back to her office. "Thank you for calling me back so promptly."

"No problem, MacKenzie. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask about the possibility that the pregnancy test would not be accurate."

"Well, if you got a negative result, but you are having any pregnancy symptoms, like breast tenderness or nausea," she almost said, you remember, but caught herself in time, "then you should just wait three days and re-administer the test."

"No, actually, I was wondering about the possibility of a false positive on the test."

Denise sighed slightly but she didn't think Mac could hear. "The test is designed to detect a single hormone, human chorionic gonadotropin. There is no other substance that the test could mistake for HCG, and there is only one way for sufficient HCG to be in a woman's bloodstream for a detectable level to occur in her urine. There is essentially no chance of a false positive. If the test was positive, MacKenzie, you are pregnant.

Denise barely heard Mac's slight intake of breath and whispered, "oh."

"Mackenzie, I know some very good people to whom you can speak who might be helpful to you in deciding what course of action you want to pursue."

"No! There's no decision to be made. We knew we were playing with fire. It's okay. More than okay. At my age and after, you know, I was afraid that we wouldn't get another chance . . . "

Suddenly, reality realigned and much of the confusion about what in the world Mac had been doing lifted. While Denise Barrington wasn't clear on the details, there was one thing of which she was absolutely certain. "Mackenzie," she said, "this is Will, isn't it? This is Will's baby."

"Of course, it's Will's baby."

Denise smiled at the unspoken "who else would I allow to do this to me" in Mac's tone. Although it was none of her business, and she thought she knew the answer, Denise couldn't resist asking what had happened to the man Mac had met on Election Day.

"I never said that I met him on Election Day. What happened was that Will asked me to marry him during our election broadcast, but for a lot of reasons, we are trying to keep it in the family and out of the press, at least for a while."

"I'm so happy for you. 

"Thank you. We're very happy, too."

"So, have you made an appointment to see me?"

"Not yet. I was waiting to take the second test."

"You can do that, but the result will be the same. Get yourself some prenatal vitamins and make the appointment. And, bring Will. I always like to have both parents at the initial consult when there is an involved partner."

The word, "parents," made Mac's heart leap and her throat close.

"MacKenzie, this is what you want?" Dr. Barrington asked.

"Yes. Yes. Very much. This is what I want."


	4. Mackenzie From Midtown

MacKenzie hung up the phone from Dr. Barrington, and walked back to the conference room. Stopping with her hand on the door, she looked through the glass at Will laughing at something Jim was saying that she couldn't quite make out. He looked good laughing. He'd laughed more, she thought, in the last month than in the entire time she'd been back at ACN. Real laughter that lit up his face, not the cold-eyed, bitter, sarcastic snorts that he'd directed her way on so many occasions over the past two and a half years. 

Will's baby! She whispered to herself the words she had spoken into the phone, "Will's baby." Or to put a finer point on it, thought Mac, ever the realist, more like "Will's pea sized blob of rapidly dividing cells." She stood at the conference room door a moment longer imagining telling him her news. She had been going to wait for the second test, but after her conversation with Dr. Barrington, she thought that she would tell him tonight when they were alone. It was Friday, and they were planning to go to his apartment and stay the weekend. A few weeks before, Mac had sat on Will's lap and picked out new bedroom furniture from the online catalogue of a Soho design outlet, and new wall and window coverings from the site of an interior decorator Will knew (Mac wisely chose not to ask how well). Will had divided his old bedroom furniture between Gary, Tess and Neal, none of whom apparently shared Mac's aversion to laying their heads or storing their clothes where Nina Howard's had once been.

She and Will would go to their new bedroom and she would tell him she was pregnant. They would be giddy and giggly and silly with excitement and anticipation. They would laugh and kiss and screw each other's brains out. It would be, she was sure, everything that she'd imagined almost six years ago, until . . . No! She commanded herself harshly, don't go there. This baby doesn't deserve to have his or her mother's memories of the past mar his or her parents' celebration of his or her conception (the English language really was in need of a non-gender specific pronoun applicable to human beings, she thought). Having brought herself back from the abyss thinking about grammar, she resolved to put the past out of her mind and concentrate on the here and now. Taking a deep breath, Mac entered the conference room and rejoined the rundown meeting.

The meeting progressed smoothly and wrapped up on time. They would emphasize the Senate's voting new sanctions against Iran and Secretary of State Clinton's address at a Brooking's Institute forum, in which she'd asserted that the resumption of peace talks between Israel and the Palestinian Authority and the establishment of a Palestinian state were critical to the fight against Islamist terrorism. They would also give Sloan an extra segment to discuss the ramifications of the latest Republican rejection of the most recent presidential proposal to avert the "fiscal cliff." 

As Mac and Will left the meeting to go their separate ways and get ready for airtime, he grabbed her hand. "Who was the phone call?" he asked.

"Oh, Dr. Barrington. She's threatening to come and get me if I don't show up for a check-up in the next two weeks."

Okay, Will thought, that should work. He'd actually been considering suggesting to Mac that she take a pregnancy test, especially after her reaction the night before to his sucking her nipples and squeezing her breasts, but something had stopped him. Still, if she had not started her period in another week or two, he was sure that Dr. Barrington would insist on giving Mac a test and then they would know. Or maybe . . .

"Did you talk about anything else?"

"A couple of things." Mac smiled enigmatically. "We need to get to work. I'll tell you the rest tonight." With that, she looked down at their still joined hands, squeezed his and headed off across the bullpen. There was a definite spring in her step that sent his hopes soaring. As Will watched her go, trying to keep his emotions in check, the lyrics to "Everything's Coming Up Roses" from Gypsy filled his head. Walking back to his office to put the final touches on the evening's script, he started to sing under his breath, "Curtain up! Light the lights! You got nothing to hit but the heights! You'll be swell. You'll be great. I can tell. Just you wait. That lucky star I talk about is due! Honey, everything's coming up roses for me and for you!"

 

Will's euphoria ended about a half hour later when Rebecca Halliday appeared in his doorway. Since his on air acknowledgment of the Dantana lawsuit, Rebecca had taken to treating him more as co-counsel than client. For his part, Will enjoyed discussing strategy and tactics with her, although they hadn't had much occasion to do so lately since the early procedural stages of the Dantana suit, like any federal case, tended to be predicable and boring. However, from the grim expression on Rebecca's face, Will suspected that things were about to change.

"Come on in. Have a seat."

"Thanks."

"What's up?"

"This," she said, handing him a document he could see bore a case caption, which he soon confirmed was indeed, "Dantana v. Atlantis World Media, et. al." It was a motion for leave of court to take the deposition of MacKenzie McHale sooner than was permitted under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure.

Will opened it and skimmed the contents. "What is this?" he asked angrily, although they both knew that he knew exactly what it was.

"A shot across our bow, " Rebecca replied. "Pay up or watch us take MacKenzie McHale apart." Will swore, and Rebecca continued, "They're unlikely to win this. Mac's not 85 or heading off to a war zone anytime soon. It's a bunch of bunk, but they are hoping it will shake her up. I know you've been protecting her from the finer details of Dantana's allegations, but she was going to have to face up to it sooner or later, and it looks like it's going to be sooner. I can't rely only on beating this. I've got a full day on Monday, but I'm going to arrange to meet with her first thing Tuesday morning to start preparing for how she will handle being interrogated. It's going to happen eventually, even if I get this request denied. Mac's got to read the complaint over the weekend." "I'm sorry, Will," she said when he groaned, "I'm going to have to talk to her about this."

Will reached for a cigarette and put it into his mouth. He flicked the antique Dunhill lighter Mac had given him as an anniversary present years ago and stared at the flame. No, he thought, time to stop. Cold turkey. He wasn't going to expose a pregnant Mackenzie or his unborn child to anymore second hand smoke. Besides, he needed to get fit and stay healthy. He needed to be around for a long time. He suddenly wanted to live to see his grandchildren. He closed the lighter, extinguishing the flame, and ground the cigarette into dust in his ashtray.

"Quitting, are you?" Rebecca said with a slight tease in her voice.

"Uh? Oh. Yeah. Guess so. Mac . . . It's about time."

"You won't get an argument from me. Please, be an inspiration." Rebecca rose. "I'm going to go talk to Mackenzie."

"No! Wait! Wait until after the show; okay?"

 

Rebecca was waiting in Mac's office when she got back after the broadcast. Will hovered outside since his presence inside the office might undermine the attorney-client privilege that would attach to a private conversation between Mac and Rebecca. How he longed to be in there, rubbing away the tension that he could see even from this distance was in Mac's shoulders. He saw Mac read some of the motion and shake her head. She looked confused and unhappy. After several minutes of conversation that Will could not make out even through the non-sound proof glass, Rebecca put a copy of the complaint on Mac's desk. Will could see Rebecca pointing out a few paragraphs. She turned a few pages and said something which caused all of the color to drain from Mac's face. He saw Mac swallow several times and for the first time in weeks, Will saw her put on the over bright smile that she had always used to hide pain and fear.

Rebecca didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she hid it well. Will saw her nodding at something Mac said, gesturing to the complaint, and then smiling and starting for the door. As it opened, Will heard her say, "Good. Then, you'll read it carefully over the weekend, and be prepared to talk first thing Tuesday. Let's say 9 o'clock in the 44th floor conference room. Other than your homework, have a good weekend."

"Same to you," Will heard Mac call out, employing the false cheeriness with which she used to send him off on his dates.

Will was standing so close to the door he almost blocked Rebecca's path. "She's all yours," the lawyer said to him, smiling. "Have a good weekend."

Will entered Mac's office to find a very different person from the one who had finished the broadcast with a coquettish, "great job, Billy, now take me home." This MacKenzie barely acknowledged his coming through the door Rebecca held open. She looked up briefly and then returned her gaze to a middle distance that seemed to be looking at something 10,000 miles away -- Iraq or, more likely, Will suspected, Afghanistan. He tried to temper his growing alarm with the consolation that at least she didn't feel the need to dissemble with him anymore. But Invincible Mac being gone scared him. He needed her to believe that anything was possible. He needed her to be "Mackie," the product of Ted McHale's tireless brand of politics and diplomacy, where nothing was impossible, upper lips stayed stiff and one fought on the beaches and in the streets and never, never surrendered -- the person, Will thought guiltily, who had returned to News Night and put up with him for the last two and a half years.

The woman seated in front of him looked unbelievably fragile. He walked to her and began to gently rub the knotted muscles in her neck and back. He needed to touch her, but felt that wrapping her in his arms, as he wanted to do, might sever her tenuous hold on control. She felt like blown glass beneath his fingers -- one false move and she would shatter into a million pieces. She was on the cusp of facing something intensely painful and deeply suppressed. He recognized the symptoms, and, unless he sorely missed his guess about her current condition, she was going to be doing it without benefit of alcohol, marijuana, caffeine, antidepressants, sleeping pills or, knowing Mac, ibuprofen.

"Billy, she whispered, "please, please don't be upset. I need to change our plans. I need to read this carefully. I need to think. I can't do it around you." She looked up into his face, searching for his reaction. Will couldn't speak. MacKenzie was telling him that she didn't want to be with him. His chest felt tight. He wanted to scream. But even more, he wanted to protect her. Following some instinct that surprised even him, Will turned her chair, lowered his head and gently kissed her lips. "Oh, God! Oh, Billy! I love you so much!" MacKenzie wrapped both arms around his neck. "I need you to help me. Let me go to my place alone tonight. I can absorb this. Think about the things Rebecca wants me to. I'll be fine tomorrow. I'll be fine. You'll see."

"Okay, Mac, okay," Will, held her now, rocking slightly, and crooned as if to a small child, "its going to be okay. It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay."

 

November turning to December in New York was cold even for the Nightbird. Will sat outside, bundled in a jacket and throw, playing Van Morrison, nursing a Bourbon, limiting himself to one, okay, two, cigarettes, and desperately missing MacKenzie from Midtown. When he lost feeling in his ears, he took himself inside, which had the added benefit that it would keep him from smoking. He could stick to his resolution never to smoke in the apartment again. He looked at his phone. 3:02 AM. Should he call again? He had only called her once, around midnight, to say good-night, and had not been overly concerned when she didn't answer. But he'd left a message and kind of expected her to call him back at some point before this. He was mulling it over, when the phone vibrated in his hand. Will frowned at the caller ID that read "Jim Harper mobile."

"Hey, Jim."

"Will, um, hello," Jim sounded more nervous than usual. "Did I wake you? Sorry . . ."

"No. What's up?"

"Um, did Mac leave her phone at the office? Is she asleep? I've been calling it all evening and . . . I wanted to talk to her about this North Korean missile launch . . . Thought she might not have heard . . . and . . . . I know this is stupid . . . especially now and everything . . . but I get concerned when she doesn't answer. I'm really sorry. . . I'll just go now. . . "

"No! Wait, Jim! Wait!" Will commanded more harshly than he'd intended. "How many times have you tried calling her?"

"Why?" Jim asked suspiciously. Will was reminded that they weren't the best of friends.

"Because she's not here. She's not with me."

"Where is she? What happened?" As much as Jim tried to keep his voice level and neutral, the last question came out in a tone that conveyed, "what have you done to her this time?"

Will felt a flash of anger and then a sharper stab of guilt. No time for that now. He scrubbed his left hand over his face and started to explain about the deposition notice and Rebecca's meeting with MacKenzie and Mac's desire to be alone when she studied the complaint. 

Jim interrupted him. Rising panic in his voice. "You never should have agreed with her! You never should have left her alone! I've read Dantana's crap complaint. It's going to bring up all kinds of terribly painful, upsetting stuff for her. Really bad shit. You've never seen her when . . . She's not been having nightmares with you, has she?"

"No." Will managed to get a word into Jim's rapid fire conversation, "I know she was upset after meeting with Rebecca, but she wasn't irrational. She's a grown woman who asked me to respect her privacy for one night." Christ, why was he justifying himself to this kid? 

"Okay, but I think she needs somebody with her. You've never seen . . . You don't know . . ."

"Jim, do you know what happened in Afghanistan?"

There was a pause. "She never told me. She was there for ACN. I was CNN. I didn't meet her until she came to Iraq." Jim didn't add that when he first saw her, he thought that she was the most broken person he had ever seen in his life, and the most beautiful.

Will McAvoy the prodigy prosecutor might have noticed that Jim had not answered directly the exact question he had been asked, but this went unnoticed by Will the fiancé in his current state. "Okay," Will tried taking calming breaths. "I'm going to get a cab and go to her place. I'll call you when I get to her and let you know that everything's alright." Please, God, let everything be alright.

"I can get to her place as fast as you," Jim volunteered.

"No!" Will bellowed already using an app to request a cab. "She's MY wife," he snapped. Into the stunned silence, he said more calmly, "I know you love her, and I know you've taken care of her for a lot of years when it should have been my job, and I'm grateful, more grateful than you'll probably ever know, but now, it's my turn. I'll call you."

They disconnected, just as Will's phone buzzed to announce that his cab had arrived. Despite the calm confidence he had tried to project with Jim, Will could not remember the last time he had felt panic this intense. Jim wasn't an alarmist and Jim was genuinely scared. Will was barely aware of grabbing a coat and collecting his wallet and keys. He felt like his insides had turned to water and his breath came in gasps. His movements felt more like floating or staggering than walking. Please God, he kept repeating like a mantra. Please God, she has to be okay.


	5. Return to Kabul

On the way to her apartment, he had forced her to stop and eat. She wasn't really hungry but she knew he was right and, more importantly, she knew it would comfort him. He took her to a place where they served breakfast 24/7 and got her to eat eggs and potatoes. They didn't talk about the lawsuit and she found that once she forced herself to take the first bite, the rest followed fairly easily. Besides, at some point waiting for the food to arrive, she regained a bit of herself and resolved that no matter what, she wasn't going to let Jerry fucking Dantana put her pregnancy at risk, and that meant eating right and taking care of herself. 

She hated to see the pain in Will's eyes as he kissed her at her door. She had almost weakened and asked him to stay, but she feared what she would do if he were there when she forced herself to think about the events alluded to in the complaint. She knew that she had to tell Will. She had always known that someday she would. She'd promised Danny, hadn't she, and she knew, had always known, he was right. But, she couldn't go off impulsively as she had with the confession about Brian. She wouldn't survive fucking this up again. She had to figure out how to tell Will so that he would understand and wouldn't be angry, or wouldn't be so angry that he would reject her again. And, for that, she needed to be alone.

She found one of Will's worn t-shirts hanging on the bathroom door and put it on, comforted by the traces of his scent that still remained on its fibers. Along with the shirt, she donned sweat pants, fuzzy socks and an old ACN sweatshirt that she'd appropriated from Will years before. Going to the kitchen, she looked longingly at the two half empty bottles of white wine they had left in the fridge, and put the kettle on for tea. She looked through her selection of teas and found some Chamomile. Nanny always said that Chamomile tea was the most soothing drink on earth. She sure hoped so because tonight promised to be a bitch. She'd never much cared for it, but it was one of the few drinks in her apartment besides water that did not contain caffeine or alcohol. 

When the kettle screamed at her, she poured the steaming water into a tea pot and dropped in the tea egg she had filled with the green withered leaves and left it to steep. She retrieved the copy of the complaint that Rebecca had given her, a legal pad donated by Will, two pens and three different colored highlighters from her briefcase and set them on the kitchen table. She put her cell phone on vibrate, and then decided to power it off and put it in her briefcase. That way, she reasoned, she wouldn't be as tempted to call Will. (It didn't occur to her that having given up her land line, she was cutting herself off from all attempts to reach her.) Then, at a little after midnight, she sat down and got to work.

Two hours and nearly a whole pot of tea later, she had finished reading, highlighting and annotating the complaint. She could see why Rebecca and Will didn't think much of Dantana's lawyers. It was garbled and full of factual inaccuracies, innuendo and several substantial leaps of logic. Still, the idea of being questioned by them about her time in the Middle East made her shudder. The allegations about her seemed to be directed at two separate but related theories about how she was responsible for "Operation Genoa." 

One, the easier to take, was that as a result of her time in Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan, she was suffering from severe post traumatic stress disorder and was therefore incompetent (or at least too impaired) to be an executive producer. The other, which was less clearly articulated, was that her break up with Will was the reason that she had gone to the Middle East and her PTSD-addled mind blamed him for all that she had suffered there. She had therefore subconsciously or consciously wanted to sabotage his career by letting him go on the air and make false allegations against his government. Jesus, Mac thought, he couldn't believe that for a minute; could he? No. Of course not. But the idea of him even reading something like that made her breath come faster and her mouth go dry.

Both theories relied on allegations that she had been formally diagnosed with PTSD, which she knew had never happened, and/or that her fragile mental state could be inferred from the fact that she had tried twice to commit suicide - once in Kabul, Afghanistan, in the summer of 2007 (Mac had nearly been sick when she saw that date in one of the paragraphs Rebecca had asked her about in her office) and the other two years later in Islamabad, when she had recklessly led her entire crew into a street riot in the hope of provoking a fatal attack. 

Putting pen to paper, she began making notes about the least painful of the two "suicide" episodes. Mac was certain that she had not been motivated by any self-destructive tendencies when she had waded into the demonstration in Islamabad, nor would she ever devise a method of ending her own life that would kill or injure other innocent people, let alone people she loved and respected like Jim or the members of her CNN crew. She had been going after the story and nothing more. Yes, there were risks. Journalism could be a risky business, but to characterize the act of taking those risks as reckless, fool hearty or suicidal simply because her luck ran out on that Pakistani street was ridiculous. "Should Danny Pearl be called suicidal for not realizing that the Islamic militants he intended to interview would see him only as a Jew, and not as a journalist," Mac wrote, aching a moment for Mariane, and wondering how she would carry on, give birth and raise her child alone if something happened to Will. 

"Oh, God," she murmured, that was not the right thought to have as she turned her mind to Kabul in the Summer of 2007. It was June, she remembered. Insanely hot and dry. She had flown in the First Class section of a British Airways jet chartered by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and other than a touch of air sickness, Mac remembered the flight as the last time she had felt physically comfortable in Afghanistan. Even the air conditioning at the Intercontinental Hotel had been no match for the heat, let alone the accommodations at the US Military Hospital or Danny's tiny cramped apartment. 

She was supposed to have stayed three weeks with her parents but after three days, she heard that there was a charter leaving within the week and asked her father to call in a chit or two with the Foreign Service and get her a seat. She hadn't told her parents what happened with Will, at least not the details. She'd called them from New York about five weeks after the breakup (when she thought she could get through a conversation and not break down and give herself away) and said that she was cooling things off a bit with Will, as she wasn't sure that she wanted marriage or a committed relationship at this point in her life. She didn't want to say anything too irrevocable to them. At that point, she was still calling, texting and emailing Will daily, and still held out hope that he would respond and she would be able to explain that what she had done with Brian was ancient history and no more a threat to Will and what she felt for him than was Jeremy Heath-Simpson's kissing her in her cousin's loo when she was 12. 

But when she had arrived in England almost two months later, Edward and Margaret McHale had taken one look at her and known that no one could be as emaciated, exhausted and miserable as MacKenzie, and be doing something of their own choosing. They had forced an abbreviated sanitized version of the truth from her - she had had a brief reconciliation with Brian over a year ago when she had been dating Will but before she realized that she loved him. She had only told him about it recently, and right now he was very angry with her, and they were having some time apart. The problem was that Ted McHale had reacted to the news like the diplomat he'd always been, and drove her to the brink of madness suggesting strategies for bringing Will around. She simply had to get away from her father before she silenced him with the truth - that Will had expelled her - apparently irrevocably - from his life. More importantly, Mac realized that she needed to depart immediately to protect the secret that she was determined not to yet divulge to anyone. As thin as she was, however loose were the clothes she always wore, and however assiduously she deflected her mother's attempts to embrace her, Mackenzie knew that she would not be able to stay in Surrey for three weeks without Margaret McHale discovering that her only daughter was pregnant.

Sitting at her kitchen table in the middle of the night, Mac tried to bring her mind to the next part of the story, and envision the hotel in Kabul. But this set her mind to the question that had been haunting her since Rebecca had shown her the allegations and asked her to focus on recalling all of her movements during June 2007 - how had Dantana known that date? How had he even known she was in Kabul then since she hadn't made contact with the ACN crew until the middle of July? It had to be someone who was there. Who had Dantana found who was there? And, Jesus, how had he discovered them? 

The maid at the hotel? Mac was pretty sure she was Afghani and that Jerry had never been to the Middle East. The EMT guys in the ambulance? They were Americans; military. But how would Dantana have crossed paths with them? And would they remember the name, Mackenzie McHale, if he had? She doubted it. Granted picking up a hemorrhaging woman at the Intercontinental wasn't their everyday fare, but that didn't translate into remembering her name six years later. The hospital? The nurses? Danny? Please, God, don't let it have been Danny who betrayed her. Not Danny with his youthful idealism, soft brown eyes and intellectual but unshakable faith that the world could be healed if people would just care. Surely, Danny would never have traded her deepest secrets to Jerry Dantana . . . for what? . . . for money. 

Mac realized she was shaking almost uncontrollably. She was both hot and so cold her teeth seemed to be chattering. Unbidden, a memory of the flight to Kabul filled her mind and she could almost feel the baby moving within her. He had kicked and kicked the whole way there, she suddenly remembered. She pushed away from the table and doubled over in her chair, her arms crossed on her lap pressing into her belly. Her heart started to race, emphasizing the little arrhythmia that was the McHale family curse. It's okay, she thought to the living child within her, you're going to have your daddy's heart. 

Will! She wanted Will! More than anything on the earth, she wanted Will! Her breathing became rapid and shallow, as her heart pounded faster. Memories assailed her mind, vivid, painful and all consuming. She relived it all in disconnected flashes, as her vision tunneled, and her ears rang. She was hot and sweating, and ripped the sweatshirt over her head. Her stomach turned over as she staggered for her bathroom, fearing that she would be sick. She felt so faint from the journey that she sat down on the seat cover and put her head between her knees. Then, slowly, she slid to the floor. She just lay there, rested her damp brow on the cool porcelain that was the outside of the bowl, and closed her eyes. She felt her heart and breathing begin to slow. As she had in Kabul, she let herself drift away, hoping that it would bring an end to the pain.

And, that's where Will found her when he entered the apartment twenty minutes later, asleep on the bathroom floor.


	6. The Dream

Will put his key in the door and employing all of the self-control he possessed, slowly pushed it open. Despite his own urgency, he didn't want to scare Mac if she was sitting calmly in her living room working. She wasn't. 

"Mac, it's me," he called out in what he hoped sounded like a normal voice. No answer. "MacKenzie? . . . MacKenzie? Mac, where are you?" Louder. Still no answer. Now, he started moving like a madman. As he raced through the apartment, he fought his rising panic. She wouldn't harm herself, he thought desperately. She wouldn't. She's Mac. She's pregnant. Surely, she must know it too. 

When he got to her bathroom door, time stopped. He stopped. His life stopped. He knelt beside her and only began to breathe again when he felt that her skin was warm and saw that her chest was moving in rhythm with her breathing. She was pale, too pale, but other than that she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He took her in his arms and wondered if his knees would survive the act of raising himself from a squat along with MacKenzie. She spared him the decision by waking slowly, and murmuring, "Billy? Billy, hold me. Hold me." So he sank down with his back against the tiled bathroom wall and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms. She buried her face against him and wrapped her arms around him. 

"How did you know I needed you?" she asked, her face still pressed against him.

"I didn't," Will answered honestly, "Jim did." At that, Mac looked up, a little confused. But she said nothing, seeming to decide that the clarification wasn't worth the energy she'd have to expend to obtain it. She looked completely spent, Will noted, and decided that he needed to get her into bed and back to sleep as soon as possible. 

But first, he pulled out his phone and typed in, "Got her. She's fine. But u were right. Thanks." and sent it to Jim. He was murmuring to Mac that they needed to move to the bedroom, when his phone buzzed with Jim's reply, "So glad. So were you. You're welcome. Sleep well." Will smiled. He and Jim might just do okay after all.

He got Mac into bed, taking off her socks and sweat pants. He stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and climbed in beside her, pulling her against him and was rewarded with a contented and relaxed sounding sigh. When he was sure that Mac had drifted off again, he extricated himself from her embrace, and got up to turn off the lights that were still on in the kitchen and hallway. 

He noticed the papers on the table, the annotated complaint and her handwriting on the legal pad he had given her. He wanted to sit down and read her notes in the hope that it would give him a some clues about what was going on in her head. He was debating the ethics of invading Mac's privacy when his gaze fell on the tea pot and the mug sitting beside it. Will lifted the lid and extracted the mesh ball containing the wet tea leaves. As a smile started to spread across his face, he reached for the mug and drained the last cold dregs into his mouth. Chamomile. Mac hated Chamomile tea. His smile widened, and he stood there at 4:17 AM in his boxers in MacKenzie's kitchen grinning like the village idiot. Why the fuck wasn't she telling him? He was intuitive enough to feel that it had something to do with everything she was going through with the lawsuit, although he couldn't imagine how that could be. Oh, well, he thought, he wasn't going to force her. He wasn't going to do anything that could possibly hurt her. She'd have to tell him sometime before she went into labor.

He padded back to the bedroom and carefully so as not to wake her, slid into bed beside MacKenzie. Instinctively, she moved towards him in her sleep. He nuzzled her neck and placed his hand low on her abdomen over the place where his child was growing. "I love you," he murmured, "both of you."

 

A grey misty dawn was breaking over New York when the dream came. It started as it always did, with MacKenzie lying on the floor in the foyer of Will's old apartment. Shorn of all dignity, barely human, she was crying, sobbing, clinging to Will's leg, trying to stop him from going out of the door. Overwhelmed by panic and confusion, she tried to say, "I care nothing for him. It was a few times . . . It was a year . . . more than a year . . . I can't even remember him. Please, please, let me explain. Pease listen to me. It's not what you think," but in the dream, no words would emerge from her mouth. Only the moans and cries of a wounded animal. 

He shook her off, as one would a dog. Her dream self could hear his voice, distant, calm and cold. Will's voice and yet not Will's voice. Certainly not Billy's voice. He was telling her that he was going and would return in two days. By then, he wanted all traces of her gone from his apartment and gone from his life. Agony engulfed her and drove all reason from her mind. "Billy! Billy, please, please don't leave me!" As she heard the door close, MacKenzie vomited on the floor.

As dreams do, she was instantly transported to the hotel room. She knew rather than saw where she was. It was always the same. It was night. Unbearably hot. She was sweating and panting, wracked with pain in her belly and her back. It rolled over her in waves, intense and unlike anything she had ever experienced. She screamed and screamed. She could feel the liquid flowing and seeping into the mattress beneath her curled form. She held her hands in front of her face and even in the dream darkness, she could see that they were red and wet. She moaned, as loss and emptiness became all that she was, all that she would ever be again. Then another wave of pain started to build deep inside her and she screamed again and again, "Billy, forgive me! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Billy. Billy!"

 

Will came awake as MacKenzie started to thrash, making strange guttural sounds that were not quite words. She was dreaming. A bad dream. What was it that Jim had said about nightmares; Will tried to remember. He reached for her, but she fought him, curling away from him on her side. He let her stay that way and fit his body around her, shaped himself to her, and spoke her name again and again. Her moans became screams as he held her. In the depths of the nightmare, she clutched at her abdomen and seemed to be in physical distress. The knife wound, Will imagined. She was reliving the stabbing. Damn Jerry Dantana to the deepest reaches of Hell, he cursed. 

"MacKenzie . . . Mac . . . Mac . . . It's okay. You're safe. You're in New York. Wake up. Mackie. Wake up." He wiped her damp hair from her face. She was sweating, now; a cold clammy sweat. Her moans again were turning to screams. She wasn't waking up, Will thought desperately. If anything, she seemed to be sinking deeper into the clutches of the daemons. "Mac, darling," he spoke louder, "MacKenzie . . . My love . . . My life . . . Mackie, Mackie . . . Please, please wake up. It will all be over if you just wake up. I've got you. You're safe. Please . . . "

Nothing seemed to reach her. Nothing he could do penetrated to where she was trapped. He wasn't sure when he started to cry, or even that he had until a tear dripped off his nose and landed on the warm skin of the hand clutching Mac's shoulder. As her screams started to turn to words, he remembered something that he had read on one of his parenting blogs about swaddling being a primal means of comfort. Fighting down panic, he pulled a blanket from the bottom of Mac's bed and wrapped her writhing form tightly and held her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry . . . So sorry . . . Billy, forgive me," he heard her say, as a sledgehammer of guilt broke his heart.

"No! No, Mac. Please. . . You have nothing to be sorry for . . . There's nothing to forgive." He rocked her gently, and thought he saw signs she was calming. At least, he thought her heart no longer felt like it was slamming against her ribcage two and fifty hundred times a minute.

"Forgive me . . . I'm sorry. Billy? Please. Please. Forgive me?" The pleading and pain in her voice was killing him. 

"Yes, Mac! Yes, I forgive you. I forgive you. I love you. Please . . . Please come back to me. Darling, please, please come back to me." Please God, help her, Will thought. Stop this suffering! What kind of god would let MacKenzie suffer like this? 

What kind of god? What kind of man? Will gasped in horror, and began to sob. He had made MacKenzie suffer. Wanted her to suffer. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he had made himself believe that she had walked away from their breakup unscathed and unaffected. He had made her pay for his belief. How many times had he seen his cruelty reflected in Gary's or Neal's embarrassed eyes. In Maggie risking the job that kept a roof over her head to ask him to stop hurting Mac by parading his dates in front of her face. In Jim's -- oh, God! Jim! -- Jim, who must have held her through nightmares like this; held her while she begged for "Billy's" forgiveness. How could Jim have watched him brutalizing her as payback for cheating when he knew about this? No wonder Jim hated him.

"Mac . . . Mac . . . I forgive you . . . I forgive you," he whispered brokenly. "Can you forgive me? Please, please forgive me? Come back to me. Wake up, sweetheart. Please wake up." In utter desperation, gulping in shuddering breaths, he began to sing a Beatles song that she had loved him to play when they were together, "Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here . . . Here comes the sun . . . Here comes the sun, and I say, it's alright. . . "

Billy's voice! She could feel it more than hear it through the pain and fear. Was Billy with her? Could it be that he was with her? She fought through the fog to get to him. The hotel room slowly receded into wisps of smoke. Her belly didn't hurt. She wasn't bleeding. She could breathe, even if it was rapid and shallow. She could feel arms around her. Smell Will's scent. Finally, she opened her eyes. It was daylight. She was in her bedroom in New York. Her head rested against Will's thudding chest. She was safe.

"Billy?" she said softly, looking quizzically at his puffy, tear streaked face.

"Oh! Thank God! Thank God!" he repeated over and over, kissing her hair, her forehead and her lips.

She tried to smile, but in that second, nausea overwhelmed her and she felt the contents of her stomach rise. "Billy! Billy, let me go! Let me go," she begged, as she struggled to free herself. "I'm going to be sick."


	7. The Weekend

Will followed her into the bathroom and sat down next to where Mac was kneeling. He drew her hair back and out of the way with his hands, and supported her while she emptied her stomach into the toilet bowl. He tried to remember the name of the Finnish toast that he'd read was good for morning sickness so that he could get his grocery shopping service to lay in a supply.

"Are you sure you want to be in here?" Mac asked between heaves. He recalled once helping his mother when she was sick after a particularly vicious beating, and nearly throwing up himself. But unexpectedly, he didn't feel that way now. He gently placed a kiss on the back of Mackenzie's neck.

"I assure you, there's no place else on Earth that I would rather be," he sang in his best imitation of a British accent.

"Well, in that case, Freddy," she asked, referring to the character in My Fair Lady, "would you mind getting me some cold water? There's a bottle in the fridge." 

When he got back with the bottle, MacKenzie was splashing water on her face and a little of her color had returned. She took it from him, walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. "Don't drink too fast; just take little sips," he cautioned, suddenly feeling awkward with all that was unsaid between them. "And we really should get you something to eat."

Mac just moaned and closed her eyes. "Not yet. Just give me a minute to recover."

"Mac," Will said, coming to sit beside her, and taking her hand in his. "What happened last night? Why did I find you on the bathroom floor? You can't imagine how scared I was."

"You have to be joking!" She looked at the confusion on his face. "Are you fucking serious?" Her voice rose and started to break, as she pulled her hand away from his. "I can't imagine how scared you were?" she repeated slowly. "Jesus, Billy! I wasn't bleeding and half dead. Do you have any clue what seeing you like that did to me?" She almost said, ask Lonny, but then thought better of it. Dear Lonny. If not for his having taken her out of the hospital and into the car when she really began to come apart after Charlie left, Jerry Dantana might well have the PTSD diagnosis he needed. "I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't conceive of how I was going to go on living." She could feel her composure slipping, so she stopped talking. 

He actually looked more surprised, and then gave her a slightly sheepish nod of the head. He's surprised, she thought, genuinely surprised that his well-being or his life could matter that much to me or to anybody. Suddenly, MacKenzie was filled with rage. She loathed John McAvoy with a hatred that was so violent and visceral it threatened her self-image as a civilized and educated woman. She loathed him out of love for Will and she hated him selfishly for the price she herself had paid for the damage he'd done to his oldest son. She thought that if Will's father were in the room with them right now, she might actually kill him with her bare hands for destroying his own child's ability to perceive that he was worthy of being loved. This, she now knew, was why Will had reacted as he did to the revelation about Brian. It was the origin of his desire to punish her. It was why he hadn't been able to act for the last two years on the knowledge that she had been his for the taking; no farther away than the tips of his fingers. She saw Will looking intently at her clenched fists and the deep even breaths she was trying to use to calm down. Mac closed her eyes. She needed to refocus her attention, or in a minute, she'd take her anger out on John McAvoy's bruised and battered boy.

"Mac?" Will asked quietly taking her hand again.

Her gaze softened and she squeezed his hand. "Last night, I was thinking about being questioned and I had sort of an anxiety attack, I guess. I thought I was going to vomit and so I went into the bathroom, but when I got there, I felt faint, so I sat and put my head down. When that passed, I felt weak and tired and I just lay down on the floor and went to sleep."

"And the nightmare . . . that was about the Middle East?"

Mac nodded.

"Were you dreaming about being stabbed?"

She didn't want to lie to him, and she couldn't tell him the truth, so she said, "let's not talk about this anymore, okay? In fact, I'd like to spend the whole of the weekend not thinking about Jerry Dantana's fucking lawsuit, or anything about the Middle East. And I can think of just the perfect way to take my mind off of it. I need a shower. Care to join me?

They stood under the warm spray of Mac's shower. Not quite up to his, Will thought, but right now, it held other attractions. He simply couldn't keep away from her breasts. His touch against her nipples was feather light, but still she moaned. He wrapped his body around her's and leaned down to place his mouth ever so gingerly where his tongue could tease the nipple on her right breast into a hard little wad of nerves. Then with all the control and gentleness he could summon, he brought his lips around it and suckled. She cried out sharply.

He pulled away. "God, Mac! Did I hurt you?"

"Yes . . . No . . . I don't know." She was breathing raggedly. "I think I was just unprepared. Don't stop."

"Oh, Mrs. McAvoy," he chuckled, seductively. "I have no intention of stopping."

He teased her other nipple with his tongue and lips and caressed the swell of her breasts with his fingertips. She shuddered and turned away from him in a slight involuntary motion when the sensation became too intense to bear. She leaned back letting his body take most of her weight, as he pressed his erection against her and ran his hand down her torso to caress her belly and finally slip between her legs. So silky, wet and warm. His. She was his. His wife. His MacKenzie. 

He moved to support her when he felt her knees start to go weak, but kept up the steady pressure, the steady motion that was driving her to peak, driving away the darkness, driving away thoughts of lies and lawsuits.

"Billy . . . Billy," she moaned. "I . . . I can't."

Can't what, he thought. But he just said, "yes . . . yes, you can, Mac." And increased the speed with which his fingers circled and circled.

"God! Oh, God! Billy, please . . . Please . . . Yes! Yes! Billy . . . " On one long whine of his name, her knees buckled, her body convulsed and her release flooded over his fingertips. 

Softly, he said her name and kissed her hair and neck. "See," he said, teasing, " I knew you could do it. I have absolute faith in you."

She turned to face him. Placed her mouth on his and kissed him deeply, sensually. Then she went down on her knees and took him into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming as her tongue travelled his length. Suddenly horrified that she was kneeling on the shower's stone floor, he gasped out, "Mac, your knees."

She raised her head. "Catholic monks used to kneel for hours on stone, but I won't last that long, so enjoy it while you can." 

No one, he thought, could do this like MacKenzie. No one, he realized, loved him, had ever loved him, as much as MacKenzie. He gave himself up to sensation until he feared that his wire thin control had reached the breaking point, and he raised her up, lifted her into the air and with a torturous languid motion entered her. "Mine, mine, my wife, my wife" he repeated lovingly, bracing one arm against the wall of the shower, as she wrapped her legs around him and angled her body to drive him deeper.

If the former President of the Cambridge Union would later question (none too seriously, of course) whether this over-use of possessive pronouns should make her feel objectified, the woman in the shower had no such thoughts. She could only moan, "Yes, yes, yours . . . Always yours . . . Only yours . . . Forever yours." 

He remembered thinking that she shouldn't be this light, that his knees should hurt more doing this, as he drove himself harder and deeper. When he could feel she was close to orgasm again and he could fight it no longer, he clutched the back of her head in his hand, he pressed his mouth to hers and let himself go.

 

After the shower, Will got a good breakfast into Mac, and then they packed up and called Lonny, who only groused for show about Will's nocturnal cab ride as he drove them back to Will's apartment. Jim called and talked to Mac briefly about the North Korean missile launch. Then she spoke to Tess and Maggie about a segment they were preparing on World AIDS Day, and while Will went into the kitchen to fix a late lunch, Mac decided to do a little work of her own.

"Hey, Billy," she called. "May I use your computer?"

"Of course. What's mine is thine"

"Okay, thanks," she replied powering it on. "What's your password?"

"MacKenzie."

"Yes, what?"

"No," she heard him chuckle, "MacKenzie's the password."

"How long has that been your password, Will?"

"About six years."

Mac eyes widened in surprise. "I guess Nina didn't use your computer regularly," she mumbled under her breath.

She told herself that she really wasn't trying to snoop, it was just something about the password being her name that made her type "MacKenzie" into the search window. The folders and files that appeared turned her breathing shallow. There was a library of her work from her time at CNN that was more extensive and vastly better organized than her own. She couldn't even fathom how many hours it took him to create it. As she looked through it, another question formed. How had he obtained some of this? She doubted that Will's contacts at CNN could have gotten the raw footage of herself that she was watching. Charlie's maybe, or more likely, Leona asking a favor of Ted Turner. Then she came to the folders that stopped her heart. Emails, text archives and audio files of her voice messages. "Oh, Billy, why?" she whispered. "Why did we loose so much time? Why did you keep everything like this, but refuse to talk to me?"

Like a moth to the flame, she opened the folder named, "June 2007." Inside were sub-folders titled, "Email" "Text Messages" and "Voice Messages." She opened "Voice Messages" and scrolled through the audio files until she found what she was looking for -- seven files -- seven voice messages -- with names that contained 6-07-07. Seven messages that she had left on Will's cell phone form her room at the Kabul Intercontinental Hotel in the wee hours, Kabul time, of the morning of June 8, 2007. She sat mesmerized in horror. Had he listened to them? Surely not. Certainly if he had, he would have had a different reaction to the allegations of her first suicide attempt in Dantana's complaint. For a fleeting moment, she thought about deleting them, but couldn't bring herself to do so. They didn't belong to her.

She was jolted back to reality by the sound of Will emerging from the kitchen. North Korean missiles forgotten, she quickly dropped the menu and hit Shut Down. Needing to cover her nervousness, she copped to having found the CNN library. As they sat side by side on the sofa eating her favorite nursery lunch of tomato soup and cheesy toast, she asked him about it.

"It's amazing," she told him. "I don't even have anything like it."

"Well, now you do."

She inquired from where he'd amassed the collection. Some from public sources, some from friends at CNN. Then, when Charlie got wind of what he was doing, he helped and even enlisted Leona.

When Mac expressed surprise, Will said simply, "Charlie and Leona were trying to keep me sane. I was worried sick the whole time you were over there." 

Unexpectedly, she felt completely unsettled. Unsettled and unreasonably angry. She jumped up in frustration and began to pace. "This is completely mental!" she exclaimed. "You obsessed about me for years, but you wouldn't respond to any of my attempts at actual human contact!" She hadn't planned on the conversation going this way, yet felt powerless to stop it.

"I loved you," he said softly, just as she rounded the back of the sofa. She whacked him on the back of the head. Violent, but better than putting her hands around his neck and strangling the life out of him.

"Ouch!"

"Will, you left me lying on your fucking floor!" Tears of rage and tears of sorrow stung her eyes.

He winced. They had never talked about that morning. Truth be told, there were actual gaps in his recollection -- either he'd suppressed it that deeply or his emotional state had been such that he'd acted in something akin to an alcoholic blackout. 

"MacKenzie . . . Mac . . . Please . . . Please sit down."

"Okay," she sighed, plopping down beside him. Instinctively, she reached for his hand. Anger wasn't going to change the past; she knew that, and she truly didn't want to spoil the weekend. 

"I've never really dealt with that . . . What I did . . . How I reacted," he began. "Not by myself and not with Dr. Habib, either of them. I know I'm going to have to. I'm going to have to face it all . . . Face what I did to you. What I allowed to happen to you. I'm just beginning . . . and I'm so sorry, Mac. So sorry. I can't figure out why you still want me . . . "

"Because I love you more than my life," she murmured, taking him in her arms and kissing him.

He pulled her against him hungrily and stretched them out until they were lying side by side. He trailed kisses down her throat. Then sitting up slightly, he raised the tail of the shirt she was wearing -- one of his button downs -- and lowered the waist of her leggings, exposing her stomach. Slowly he traced her scar with his fingertips. He hadn't paid any particular attention to it in the month they'd been lovers again. He hadn't avoided it, she thought, just treated it like any other part of her skin. Now, though, he caressed it tenderly, his fingers trembling with suppressed emotion. When he lowered his lips to it, she gave out a little gasp. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his throat tight and dry and his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Forgive me, Mac. Please . . . Please forgive me, " he repeated over and over between kisses. Images of her crying out in fear and anguish during the night overwhelmed him, his voice broke, and he began to sob. She held him close, murmuring word of comfort, words of love, as he shook with great wracking sobs of grief and guilt.

As she held Will and rocked him, Mac realized that she'd been afraid to tell him about Kabul for all the wrong reasons. He wasn't going to shout at her and demand to know why she hadn't told him six years ago or within days of her arrival back at ACN. She had been wrong in her fear, or rather, she'd been fearing the wrong thing. This wasn't the sign at Northwestern. This news wasn't going to anger him. It was going to destroy him. 

 

They had been planning to go out for dinner, but that somehow became less appealing than watching a couple of their favorite movies on DVD, ordering Chinese take out with Chrysanthemum blossom tea, and having a long, candle lighted soak and more sex in Will's Japanese tub. If Mac wondered why Will didn't offer her a glass of wine when he fixed himself a post-coital Scotch, or why he never took out a cigarette, she didn't let on. Passing a dreamless night, Mac slept like the dead, and even Will made up for the prior night's events by sleeping until past 9 o'clock on Sunday. 

They stayed in bed, reading the Sunday Times and nibbling on fruit and crackers until almost noon. MacKenzie had a mild bout of nausea shortly after she woke, but her stomach settled with a couple of crackers and she didn't think Will had even noticed. Will made love to her again in the early afternoon. Then, they called Lonny (God, when would this death threat business be over?) and went out for an early dinner at one of their favorite local restaurants. Will noticed Mac's eyes widen when he casually waved away the offer of the wine list, but again she said nothing, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling a bit too broadly. They both ate way too much, and it pleased Will no end to see his much too thin fiancé laughing and commenting that she was really "tucking into" her chicken and pasta. They walked home hand-in-hand (with Lonny trailing behind at a discreet distance) and worked off some of the excess calories by indulging in their favorite form of exercise. In response to Mac's statement, "You really are seventeen; aren't you, Billy!" he wanted to tell her that it was knowing she was pregnant that revved up his libido. But, he decided, two could play at this game, and he was not going to be the first to crack.


	8. Too Little

December 3, 2012

Monday morning. Will and Mac arrived at ACN at their usual early hour. Will gave her a very married peck on the cheek, accompanied by a very cheeky grin, as they headed for their separate offices. When Kendra canvassed the group for a mid-morning cafe run, Mac ordered a green tea latte with no artificial sweetener. "Just trying something new," she responded to her team's astonished looks, and flashed what she hoped was a disarming smile. When she finished the morning pitch meeting, she pulled the small white paper sleeve from her desk drawer and headed for the restroom. 

Back in her office, Mac looked at her watch. It had been well over the three minutes required for the test results to appear. With butterflies in her stomach, she opened the drawer where she had deposited the wet test stick wrapped once again in its little paper sleeve. Why did she feel so nervous? Partly, she knew, because the idea of the pregnancy was so mixed up now with the lawsuit and the need to disclose what had happened in Kabul to Will. But mostly, she realized, she was just scared. Despite her conversation with Dr. Barrington on Friday, despite having had repeated bouts of nausea all weekend, despite the fact that her breasts felt more tender every day, MacKenzie was irrationally terrified that this test would be negative. 

Taking a deep breath, she removed the test stick from its wrapper. Two pink lines. Positive. 

Suddenly, her emotions swung to the other end of the arc, and her stomach clenched anew. She was pregnant. There was no question. No going back. This really shouldn't have happened. She was too old to get pregnant like a Catholic school girl in a cautionary tale by the first sperm to take a shot at it. She and Will were already going through so many changes. They had to get used to living together. They had old baggage that needed sorting. Now they were going to add another person to the mix so soon!

She had to tell Will. She had to tell him everything. Should she tell him about Kabul and then that he was going to be a father. Again, her mind amended, and she gave an involuntary shiver. She had always wanted to hear the bad news first and then the good. But thoughts of how well that had worked for her the last time welled up -- just get this little inconsequential confession out of the way; ancient history really -- and then move on to what she really wanted to tell him. Maybe this time she should make him happy first. It will make him happy, won't it, she thought. She could walk right into his office and hand him the test stick. Would he know what it was? Sure he would. She smiled at the thought. He would break into that wonderful smile of his. He'd kiss her and embrace her in a way that would put the famous Rudy hug to shame. 

But, no, she reminded herself. Before she started something that she couldn't stop, she needed to think through what she was going to say about what happened in Afghanistan. She needed to rehearse it in her head until she could get through it without breaking down or breaking apart. She couldn't risk another episode like the one on Friday night, not in front of Will. She needed to think about this and to do that she needed time; time that she knew she wouldn't have until tonight's newscast was in the can. She needed to put the test stick back into the drawer and clear everything out of her mind and get on with the show.

But first, she would call Dr. Barrington's office and make an appointment. One that she was certain she would keep. No, she thought, one that she and Will would keep. 

 

It was a day that proved the old adage, "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." Guests cancelled at the last minute and had to be replaced. Stories that appeared locked down became subject to new developments. Graphics needed to be redone because of changes in direction and mistakes caught at the 11th hour. People scurried about focused on getting everything completed, and if MacKenzie seemed a bit more distracted than usual, no one, except Will and Sloan seemed to notice. Will catered both lunch and dinner for the staff to make sure that Mac ate properly, and because no one really had the time to go out and get food. During both of the meal breaks, she was able to drift off into her own thoughts in the hubbub of the noisy conference room. She could do this like a news story, she thought. Just distill the facts down to the salient few. Give Will just enough information to understand what she believed that Dantana had learned and why she needed to discuss it with Rebecca in the morning in order to be prepared for her deposition. If she were unemotional, maybe he could be as well. And they would have so much else to talk about, so much for which to be thankful. She would tell him all of it tonight.

The show wrapped up, mercifully without any on air blunders, and after a collective sigh of relief, everyone was headed out for a drink. "What do you want to do?" Will asked after they had been invited to join repeatedly by Sloan, Jim, Don and Neal. He thought she looked tired and stressed, and was surprised when she told him she thought they should go. Everyone knew about the motion to depose Mac and that she was scheduled for another session with Rebecca in the morning, and so the gathering was billed as a "Get Mac Drunk and Take her Mind Off of It" party. Will had no idea how she was going to handle this one and was ready to run interference for her when the time came. 

By the time Will and Mac got to the bar, Sloan had already bought Mac her first drink. Will announced to the crowd that as Mac's lawyer, he was advising his client to limit herself to one drink since the last thing she needed was to be hung over during her prep session. She flashed him what looked like a grateful smile. She did seem to relax, and genuinely laugh at Jim's and Don's stories of their own sessions with Rebecca. He saw Mac occasionally bring the drink to her lips and then set it down, and when he thought that no one was looking, he'd mistake her drink for his own and take a gulp. When Mac looked like she was really running out of steam, Will pulled out his phone, called Lonny, and announced that it was time to get their star deponent into bed. That statement was met with the predictable hoots and groans, made even more raucous by Will's attempt to explain that all he really meant was that Mac needed a good night's sleep. 

As they travelled uptown to Will's apartment, Mac lost her nerve. She had thought that going out with the gang would put them both in a mellow mood for the discussion she had planned, but now she just felt bone tired and far too emotional to carry out her plan of talking to him tonight. During the elevator ride to his floor, she curled against him and closed her eyes, while his fingers rubbed soothing circles on her back and neck. 

"Sleep, Mac, he said as he opened the apartment door. "Right to bed, and right to sleep. Tomorrow's not going to be easy, and it will go best if you are rested."

"Okay," she said simply, surprising him by not putting up any resistance. They undressed, got ready and climbed wordlessly into bed. She rested her head on his chest and told him she loved him. "Thanks for drinking my drink, Billy. I really didn't want it but I didn't want to hurt Sloan's feelings."

"Anytime, Mac," he said, kissing the top of her head, "anytime."

 

She was aware first of feeling cold and frightened, then exposed and debased. He was leaving. Leaving her. Leaving them. She was on the floor. She couldn't see him, but she knew Will was there. There and going away. "Please, please," her dream self screamed, "please, Will, please stay." There was no reply. The dream shifted. The hotel room. The heat, cloying and unbearable. She could hardly breathe. She kept trying to take a breath, but the was no air. No oxygen. She looked down at her arms where she was cradling something. A tiny tiny baby. But there was blood, so much blood. On her arms and between her legs. But this time she wasn't in pain. She was numb, floating, floating away. 

Then, suddenly Will appeared in the room. "Billy, Billy," she called, but he couldn't seem to hear her. She could hear him though, asking what happened. "What happened, Mackenzie? What did you do?" Before she could answer, try to explain, the pain, physical and mental, came rushing in and swamped her, and he turned away. "I'm sorry, Billy! I'm sorry." She was crying now, unable to catch her breath. "He's too little, Billy. He's too little to live. Please, please forgive me?" She cried over and over, struggling to breathe.

 

Will held her as she gasped for breath, trying to get his own breathing under control. Her moans and strangled cries had awakened him, but it was her inability to breathe that terrified him. He did everything he could imagine to wake her up, talking to her, stroking her face, clutching her tight. Unlike the nightmare two nights before, however, this time, she didn't pull away from him. This time she clung to him. Finally, her gasps became words. Apologies and requests for forgiveness that tore him up inside. But, then something more. Something about someone being too little. He listened carefully, and finally caught the words. "He's too little, Billy," Mac was saying, still gasping for breath, "he's too little to live." 

Will pulled her up into a sitting position against him, hoping that it would help her get oxygen into her lungs. He said her name loudly, forcefully, almost screaming himself. She didn't seem to be under as deeply as before, and after a few more attempts to wake her, Mac raised her head and appeared to register his presence. 

"Billy! Billy! Please, please . . . I need you." Mackenzie grasped at him. Her mouth came to his. Frantic kisses covered his neck and trailed down his chest, as she pulled at the t-shirt and boxers he had worn to bed.

Gently he laid her down and covered her with his body. He felt vaguely ashamed of his arousal, but it seemed to be what she wanted. "Shush, shush, sweetheart, it's okay," he crooned, over and over, stroking her length under the thin shirt she wore. Gradually, her movements became less agitated. She pulled on the waistband of his boxers, and he twisted to pull them down and kick them off. She pressed herself to his thigh and when he reached down to caress her through the sleep shorts she wore, a moan escaped from her lips and he touched the damp fabric and found her ready. 

That night established a pattern that would continue for the rest of their lives. Mac would later make a standing joke of it, dubbing him, "Will McAvoy and his Magic Wand -- Foe of the Dark Forces and Vanquisher of the Night Daemons." Sometimes she would seem to slide almost seamlessly from the nightmare into lovemaking, and afterwards, she would always sleep in his arms, in the peaceful, deep, vulnerable slumber of a child.

A few months after the first time, Jake Habib asked Will what Mac used to deal with the nightmares and flashbacks, considering that she refused any sort of anti-anxiety medication, antidepressants or sleep-aids, even the ones believed to be safe for pregnant women. "Nothing," he'd said.

"Really, Will? Nothing? That's concerning. There's nothing she does? Nothing she uses for comfort?"

Will thought harder and then it hit him. Feeling a little embarrassed, he replied bit too loudly, "Me. . . She uses me . . . Orgasm . . . Sex."

Jake started to smile that tight lipped smile of his that began at his mouth, then seemed to spread first to his eyebrows and finally to his eyes. "That helps, I presume."

"Yes, always."

Still smiling, Habib said, "too bad I can't write a prescription for it. It's probably about the healthiest protocol imaginable: Non-toxic, no side-effects, no concern about dosage tolerance and efficacy, and not habit forming."

"Speak for yourself. I'm a hopeless addict." Will grinned.

 

Will did not go back to sleep that night. He replayed the nightmare again and again. Similar to the one two nights before and yet different. He had been sure that the other one had taken her back to the street in Islamabad and the knife cutting into her flesh. Hadn't she told him so when he'd asked. But last time there had been no reference to anyone else. Who was "he?" Not him. No, she seemed, as she had before, to be speaking to him. And how can someone be too little to live? There's no such thing as dying from being little. Starving to death, maybe. Had she seen someone starving? Undoubtedly, considering where she'd been. Had she seen someone, a child, a little boy, starve to death. But why would she ask him to forgive her for that? Well, it was a nightmare after all, he thought, maybe he was being too logical in a situation devoid of logic. 

And then it came to him, as a cold fear gripped his heart, he did know how someone could be too little to live. An infant could be too little to live. He tightened his hold on MacKenzie, kissed her hair, caressed her cheek. Good God, he thought, was that why she hadn't told him yet? Was she that afraid of losing the baby that she was dreaming about it? And, if so, why?


	9. It Took You Long Enough

When Mac got out of the shower, Will already had breakfast prepared. There was a bowl of cut up bananas and strawberries, rice crackers that looked vaguely like hockey pucks, juice, a scrambled egg and a glass of milk ("for protein," he'd announced.). "Sit. Eat," he commanded, gently.

"I'm not sure I can," she answered, "my stomach is in knots."

"It's okay." He took her hand and sat her down. "Rebecca's not really that much of an ogre. Like Shrek, she just looks that way, but really she has a heart of gold."

"Boy, old man, if I ever want to get rid of you and inherit all your money, I'll just have to tell Rebecca that you compared her looks to Shrek."

Mac had taken Will's advice and dressed casually in slacks and a comfortable sweater, although she still insisted on wearing a pair of her spike heeled Louboutins. Since that had seemed like a good idea, she tried eating, and found that she could actually get a respectable amount of Will's meal chewed and swallowed. She needed to start talking, she thought, or they would be done with breakfast before she got it out. God, breakfast, again! Why did she always do these things at breakfast? Then, her thoughts were completely distracted by her stomach. Usually, the nausea built slowly, tickling around the edges of her consciousness, ebbing and flowing a bit before settling in. Not today. As it had the first time, it just slammed into her, sending her to her feet and running for Will's powder room. 

"You've got to eat something else," Will told her when they returned to the kitchen about fifteen minutes later. "Not only do you need the calories for energy to get you through the prep session, but if you feel sick again on an empty stomach, you'll end up dry heaving and that can't be good for you." She just looked at him. He looked so sweet and concerned. She couldn't stand the idea that she was going to hurt and upset him. 

"I don't think it will happen again. It's just nerves. Reliving Genoa is not something I'm relishing." Ignoring his dubious expression, Mac took the rice cracker he offered and nibbled a bit around the edges, washing it down with a little water. 

A knock on the door signaled Lonny's arrival. Great, thought Mac, just great.

 

Traffic was horrible and by the time they got to the ACN building, it was nearly 9 o'clock and time for Mac to meet Rebecca. They took the elevator to the 44th floor in silence. Just before the door opened, Will reached out and squeezed her hand.

"No sitting in the hall this time," Rebecca said to Will as she walked up to the couple, "it's creepy. She's fine." Will looked at Rebecca as if she were blind, and she had to agree -- anybody with eyes could see that Mac was anything but fine. She was sheet white and folded in on herself. Will just stood transfixed, studying MacKenzie with obvious concern. 

"Go!" Rebecca commanded him, reminded of dropping her now grown daughter off at preschool and being ordered away by the teacher. Like that wise woman then, Rebecca felt that nothing was being accomplished for any of them by prolonging this scene. Will embraced Mac, who threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. As he walked to the elevator, she looked at him as if he were the last plane out of Casablanca. 

 

"There's something I've got to tell you," Mac began when they were alone. No, shit, Rebecca thought. ". . . because somehow Dantana's found out. I'm sure of it. He wouldn't have mentioned June 2007 if he hadn't. But I need to tell Will first. He has to know he's the first person I've ever told. But I can't seem to figure out how to do it." Mac paced back and forth, crackling with nervous energy, and making Rebecca feel tired. 

"Sit down, Mac."

"I can't."

"Okay. Suit yourself." Rebecca leaned back in her chair. There was no point in even attempting to take notes. She was going to give up trying to understand what MacKenzie was saying and just let her talk and pace until she'd gotten it all out. After saying good-bye to Will, Mac had entered the conference room, taken one look at Rebecca's three associates, and gone even more pale, if that was possible. In a strangled voice, she'd asked if they could have a minute alone. Rebecca'd ordered her minions to take a coffee break and wait for her text. Somehow, she thought this was going to take more than a minute. Now she watched Mac pace, clasping and unclasping her hands, and positively radiating anxiety. 

"At first, I was afraid he might be angry, but now . . . I don't know . . . I think he's going to feel guilty and hurt and robbed . . . I know what that's like. I've spent so many years clawing my way out of that abyss. I can't break his heart again. I can't watch it." Completely in the dark about what was going on, Rebecca closed her eyes. Mac didn't seem to notice; didn't seem to be talking to the lawyer as much as to herself. "But I think I'm just as afraid for myself. I'm afraid if I start thinking about it again, I'll just sink down and never get up . . . But I have to get up. I have to be okay . . . I have to be able to feel this baby move inside of me without fearing I'll go insane . . . "

Mac last words penetrated the fog that was swirling around in Rebecca's brain. She opened her eyes and leaned forward, an interested, almost predatory look on her face. "What did you just say? What 'this baby'?" 

Mac said nothing. She just froze with her eyes cast down as if she were mesmerized by the wood grain of the table top. 

"Mac? MacKenzie? Look at me. Are you?" Mac looked up and met Rebecca's gaze. For the first time that morning, Rebecca saw light come into her eyes. "Are you pregnant, Mac?" MacKenzie worried her bottom lip with her teeth, but said nothing. Damn, Rebecca thought, she'd have to agree with McAvoy, that just might be the most appealing gesture she'd ever seen an adult make. Mac looked at Rebecca, who just kept staring back at her, until a tiny smile started to form at the corners of Mackenzie's mouth. "You are! You are fucking knocked up, MacKenzie McHale, so don't try to deny it." It looked like a struggle, but finally the smile won, and Mac gave a shy little nod. 

Rebecca raised both arms into the air and pumped her fists. "And the Cherubim and Seraphim sing hallelujah! Hosanna in the highest. There is a God in the Heavens and he's working for AWM! This is great! This is priceless! Oh, baby! This will not be good news to our friend Dantana's counsel, believe me. Don't you see, Mac, now it's like he's attacking a whole fucking family." The image of Will crushing out his unlit cigarette on Friday afternoon popped into Rebecca's mind, and she said, "Will's over the moon, as you Brits like to say, I can see it."

"I'm American . . . And, well, we haven't talked about it actually."

"What?" Rebecca stared at her intently. "Why ever not?"

"Because it's all mixed up with Kabul and June 2007. . . And that's what I was trying to tell you."

"Well then, unmix it up." When Mac started to open her mouth again to speak, Rebecca held up her hand. "Whoa, whoa. Mac take my advice. Get him up here and confirm for him that you're pregnant. Let him celebrate. Then just spit out what ever else it is you need to say. He'll never be in a better place to absorb bad news."

"You think so? You think he'll be that happy?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, MacKenzie, don't you?" The night watchman could probably predict Will's reaction accurately, Rebecca thought. But Mackenzie seemed to need a pep talk, so, Rebecca thought with a sigh, hers being a full service law firm, she'd give one. "Yes, I do. I'll give you just three of my many reasons for saying so. First, he already knows. The fucking guy quit smoking on Friday!"

"Will gave up smoking on Friday?"

"Yes, he did," Rebecca chuckled. "Mac, is there any chance that Will could be unaware that you've missed your period?"

"No," Mac said thoughtfully. 

"Any morning sickness, yet? Don't imagine he's seen you barf, has he?" She could see the answer in Mac's eyes. "And, how's he been?"

"Wonderful," Mac said softly.

"So, while he doesn't know for sure," Rebecca stressed the last word for emphasis, and was rewarded by another smile creeping onto Mac somber face, "I can tell you, he's praying everyday that his guess is right. Okay, Reason Number Two: Will has a tremendous desire to protect and nurture, which I think he's finally getting in touch with. Being a father is going to give him full reign to indulge it. You've got yourself Mr. Mom there. If you didn't want a full on partner in the parenting arena, you picked yourself the wrong guy to procreate with." Rebecca paused. "Mac," she said slowly, leaning forward with her forearms on the table and her hands folded, "he worships the ground you walk on. To create a child with you . . . Someone utterly helpless that he can love and care for . . . 

"Yes," Mac interrupted. She knew exactly the part of Will's nature Rebecca was describing, and she understood it better than the lawyer. Of course, she thought, he will be the father he never had.

Rebecca's voice brought her out of her musings. "On to Reason Number Three: Will McAvoy has an ego the size of Manhattan. He's just gotten the most attractive woman he's ever seen in real life . . . Come on, Mac, everyone's heard him say that, don't look surprised . . . to agree to marry him. That makes him the alpha dog, and he wants everyone to know it. Or did you miss his announcement to the assembled multitude on Election Night?" Rebecca paused and studied Mackenzie. Her smile had at last reached her eyes. Some color had come into the younger woman's face, and she seemed on the verge of relaxing for the first time that morning. Rebecca continued, "MacKenzie, honey, nothing says lovin' like somethin' in the oven. If you think that rock on your finger screams, 'I'm fucking Will McAvoy,' you ain't seen nothing yet." 

With that, MacKenzie McHale burst out laughing. 

Rebecca picked up her phone and started to track down Will. She found him in Charlie's office. "Hey, Charlie," Mac heard her say. "Rebecca. Fine, how are you?. Yes, she's here. That's why I'm calling; we need Will back up here on the double. Thanks."

Putting the phone down, Charlie turned to Will, "Rebecca requests your presence up on 44." Will shot out of his chair like it had been electrified, and raced out the door. "On the double," Charlie finished, talking to the air.

Rebecca was walking out the conference room door when he arrived. "Buzz me when you're ready, Mac," she said as she stepped out of the way to let Will enter. MacKenzie, who was standing in the middle of the room just nodded. Will stopped when he saw her.

"Christ, Mac, should I be as frightened as I've been on the ride up here?" he asked breathlessly.

"I don't know, Billy. Does fatherhood terrify you?"

He stared at her and a huge grin claimed his entire face. "Thank God," he whispered to himself as he closed the distance between them. Then she was in his arms. His mouth crushed to hers. Smiling, Rebecca closed the conference room door, and walked to her office.

They kissed until they were both gasping for breath. "It took you long enough," he said against her mouth. 

"Really?" She asked. "That's what you're saying?" But she laughed.

"Yeah. Ya think there were enough clues?" They grinned at each other for a long long time. Finally Will spoke, answering her initial question. "I've never felt more terrified or excited in my life. I've never wanted anything in my life more than this, except for you. How far along are you? Do you have any idea when it was?

"I don't think we will know much until it's big enough to check developmental milestones, but I think you might have done the deed on Election Night."

He kissed her again, and then pulled back to look into her eyes. They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. God, he hoped their child would have her eyes. "We've made a baby, Mac. We've made a life. A new human being is going to walk this earth because of us." For an instant, he thought he saw a shadow pass over her face, and was reminded of the moment she had shivered in his arms on their first morning when he had told her he didn't want her to take a morning after pill. "What? Mac? Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Turned her face up to his. "MacKenzie, I meant what I said, I'm never going to hurt you again. Please tell me what's troubling you. I hate seeing you afraid of me. I know I've given you reason to be, and I wish more than anything I could turn back time and . . . ."

"Let's sit down, Billy." She squeezed him once and then withdrew from his arms. She pulled two chairs away from the table and turned them so they would be facing. She sat in one and motioned him to sit in the other. He did so, fighting a growing sense of foreboding. Mac moved closer until her knees were between his and reached for both of his hands. Clasping them in hers she brought them to her lap so that he was leaning forward toward her. She looked into his eyes until the intensity started to undo her. Then, Mackenzie lowered her head slightly and said quietly, "Billy, this isn't our first baby."

When she felt him freeze, she instinctively pulled his hands closer to her body, resting them against her belly. "I . . . I . . . I don't . . . I don't," he mumbled incoherently.

"I never told you. I never got the chance to tell you. You remember when you've asked me why I told you about Brian, and I've said that it was because I thought I needed to because we had gotten so serious? Well, that was true. It just wasn't the whole truth . . . "

"Oh, God! Oh, God," he moaned as the numbness engendered by her revelation of another baby lifted and he started to realize what she must be telling him. 

"I don't know if you remember, but a couple of months before we broke up, I was switching pills and we were supposed to use protection during the transition, but we got sloppy and . . . . Well, I got pregnant. I was thrilled, Billy. You were talking about marriage and I knew that you and our baby were everything that I wanted." Will moaned again and rested his head in her lap. "I wanted to tell you. I don't know why, but I got it into my head that before I did, I needed to clear the air and reveal my brief and unmemorable reconciliation with Brian. I thought you knew that I hadn't had a single thought about him for over a year. I thought you knew how much I loved you. I never expected it would hurt you so much." Mac lowered her head and kissed him as her tears fell into his hair. "And then . . . "

"I went insane, " he interrupted.

"I tried to get you to see me. For weeks and weeks I tried. I told myself that if you would just agree to talk to me, I'd tell you."

"You could have forced it," he raised his head to look at her.

"You mean put it in the re line of one of the emails you weren't opening?" She asked sadly. "Yes, I could have. If I had it to do over, I probably would. Back then, I told myself that if you wouldn't talk to me, I wasn't going to try to saddle you with a child you didn't want by a woman you didn't want." Will could hear the hurt in her voice.

"I did want you," he said brokenly. "I've always wanted you."

"I know that now. I didn't then."

Suddenly, Will knew what she would say next. I can take this from her, he thought. I can show her that I understand. Show her it doesn't matter. Show her that nothing will change my feelings for her. With all of the love and compassion he felt coming through in his voice, he said softly, "when I wouldn't talk to you, you had an abortion."

Mac was struck speechless by the love she felt in his gesture. Finally, she shook her head slowly. "No," she said. "If I'd gotten pregnant by anyone but you, I probably would have." She smiled at him lovingly. "We still differ on that one. But, no, Billy . . . Not your child. I'd never harm your child." She let go of his hands and brought hers up to cup his face. "There's nothing you could have done to me . . . Nothing we were doing to each other that would have made me destroy our baby." She looked intently into his eyes. Saw them shimmering with tears, and felt her own brim over again. He nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. 

"You had a miscarriage." It sounded so incredibly sad coming from his lips.

"Yes," she said knowing it wasn't quite the truth. A little white lie she thought to spare him right now. To spare them both. "Yes," she said again, "I lost the baby in Kabul."


	10. Return to Kabul, Part 2

"You let Charlie send you to Afghanistan when you were pregnant?" He hadn't intended it to sound so much like an accusation, and regretted it when he saw her blanch. 

"You know about that?"

"When I first read the complaint, I asked him if Dantana had just made up the part about you being in Kabul, and Charlie told me that he'd sent you there."

"Oh," she said, thinking about what else Charlie might have shared with Will. "Well then, you know that I wasn't going there to be embedded, Will. I wasn't living in a cave in Tora Bora. I was only supposed to be there for a few weeks. I flew in first class on a British Airways jet and checked into the bloody Intercontinental Hotel. Nothing about going to Afghanistan endangered the baby." MacKenzie sighed, running out of energy. "I took care of that quite well here in the States," she said flatly and gave him a sad little smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I didn't take care of myself properly. I didn't eat right (or barely at all, her mind corrected). I didn't get enough sleep." Will thought of Charlie's description of Mac when she'd asked him to help her escape from New York. Guilt stabbed through him like a knife. She had been pregnant. God, help him. 

"I didn't listen to Dr. Barrington, who was beside herself with worry. I was selfish and spoiled . . . ." To compound Will's horror, Mac started to tremble. 

"Come here," he said raising her by the elbows and moving them both from the chairs by the table to a sofa that sat along one wall of the conference room. He wrapped her in his arms as she continued speaking.

"I was so consumed with my own misery . . . "

"Misery that I caused," he interrupted.

"That I cost our baby his life. . . . " She buried her face in Will's sweater. Whether for comfort or in shame, he couldn't be sure.

"It was a boy?" Will asked quietly. "You knew it was a boy?" She nodded.

"I need to tell you what I think Dantana knows, Will. Just let me start and keep going, okay?"

"Sure, Mac. You do this however you need to."

"Okay," she said, sitting up, facing him and squaring her shoulders. "It happened on my third night at the hotel. Early morning actually. I didn't know anyone in Kabul. In fact, no one there from ACN even knew I'd arrived. I didn't call anyone at the hotel to help me. I think somehow Dantana knows that. Anyway, I lost a lot of blood. When I realized how bad it was, I just gave up. I wasn't suicidal like drive to the middle of the Triborough Bridge and jump, I just couldn't muster the effort to go on living. I'd lost everything, Billy." 

Somewhere in her narrative, Mac had stopped looking at Will and started staring into space as she spoke. Saying his name made her turn back, and she let out a small gasp at the anguish in his eyes. She wanted to stop. Wanted to stop hurting him. But she had to finish. "I just hurt so much. I thought that if I closed my eyes, I'd drift away, and surely the pain would have to stop. I know if they ask me if I tried to kill myself in Kabul, I'm going to think about this, and I need to tell Rebecca so she can help me figure out a way to know this and still find answers to their questions that don't give away the farm."

Will placed a soft sad kiss on the side of her forehead that almost shattered what was left of her composure. "What happened?" he asked in a thick, hushed voice.

"I lost consciousness. Afterward, I learned that the maid came to clean my room, and when no one responded to her knock, she assumed the room was unoccupied and let herself in. She found me." Found us, her mind amended. Mac couldn't quite define the sound that came from Will, a sound that acknowledged how close he had come to losing her forever. "She ran for the Manager, who called an American Military ambulance." She gave him a weak smile. "Luckily for me they carry whole blood with them and ACN issues dog tags to staff in war zones."

"Mac, dear God . . . " She waited a beat for him to say more, but he just stared at her like he could hardly believe she was actually there with him.

"I woke up in a military hospital. I guess my guardian angel was on double duty that day because there was this young doctor, fresh from an OB-Gyn residency at Columbia Medical Center, who prevented them from doing a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding . . . ."

"Oh, Jesus!" Will crushed her to him. She felt him breathing hard, trying to get himself under control.

"His name was Daniel. I can't remember his last name. It's been driving me crazy; trying to remember it. He was an Orthodox Jew. I remember wondering what the army was thinking sending him to work in the middle of Kabul. He was so young and sweet. I think he rather fancied me."

Of course, he did, Will thought.

"He worked on me for hours trying to save both my life and my ability to have another child. Then, he set out to restore my will to live. Tikkun olam. Somehow I can remember those Hebrew words and not his bloody last name. I'd like to find him . . . tell him about the baby. I owe him so much."

"I owe him everything," Will said softly, placing another kiss in her hair.

"What's also driving me crazy, Will, is how Dantana found out what he knows. This all happened in June 2007, and he knows that. It's in the complaint. But the thing is," she said, becoming more animated than she had been, "I wasn't supposed to arrive in Kabul for another three weeks, and in fact, things got pushed back and I didn't officially check in with anyone from ACN until the middle of July. Dantana couldn't have found out I was in Kabul in June from someone at ACN. Not even Charlie knows I was there. He thinks I was in England with my parents. I've thought about this and thought about it. The EMT guys in the ambulance? How could Jerry have met up with them? And they wouldn't remember me; would they? Someone from the hospital? I don't think anyone would remember except Danny, and I can't believe he'd . . . It would just kill me to think that he'd . . . ." She trailed off, finally running out of steam.

"Well," she smiled gamely. "You'd best get to the pitch meeting and I need to get on with Rebecca." When he snorted derisively at the words, pitch meeting, Mac looked at him sternly. "No, you go. Jim will be really disappointed if you don't show up. He's running it this morning."

"Jim . . . Does he?"

"No!" she exclaimed quickly. "Billy, you are the first person on earth I've ever told about this. Dr. Barrington knows I was pregnant, of course, but she was the only one. When I came back, I just told her I'd miscarried. Obviously, the people at the hotel and at the hospital saw me, but no one else. Never, Billy. You had to be the first. I owed it to you for you to be the first." MacKenzie shook her head for emphasis, and stood up, holding out her hand for his and pulling him to his feet. 

You owed me nothing, Will thought, after what I did to you, you owe me nothing. But, he didn't trust himself to speak so he just held her. 

"I expect you to plan a big celebration for tonight," she smiled coyly up at him, trying to lighten the mood in the room. Then remembering his penchant for grand announcements, she cautioned, "Billy, don't tell anyone about the baby. So many things can go wrong early on . . . I don't expect them to," she amended hastily when she saw his expression descend into worry. "It's just if we have to face something painful, I'd rather not have everybody else's expectations wrapped up in it too. Rebecca knows. Actually, I sort of told her. But no one else, okay?"

"Sure, Mac. It will be our secret for as long as you like." He kissed her again, long, slow and filled with desire. She pressed the length of her body against his, and absorbed his comfort.

"You'd better go before you can't walk down the hall without holding an open newspaper in front of you," she giggled.

"Do you have one?"

"No, but I'm going to call Rebecca now. Shall I ask her to bring one for you?"

"God, no!"

Mac put her hand on his cheek. "I love you, Billy. You are the finest man I've ever known."

Will remained standing in the hall outside the conference room until Rebecca walked up, carrying two insulated cups and a plate of sliced apples and wheat crackers. "Hey, there, daddy," she said, smiling at him. "Go to work. I won't wear her out. We'll go 'til lunch, eat something, and I'll send her down around two-thirty. That should give her time to decompress and maybe even rest before you guys gear up for tonight's broadcast. Rub her feet. Always worked for me." Will found that his throat had closed up, making speech impossible, so he silently leaned down and kissed Rebecca on the cheek.

When she closed the door behind her, he slid down the wall, put his face in his hands and wept.

 

Back in his office, Will thought about calling and seeing if Jake Habib could work him in. But then, he remembered something else, and thought that maybe he could do something for Mac. Get her some of the information the absence of which was nagging at her. At least maybe he would be able to learn something that ease her mind and confirm that "Danny" hadn't betrayed her. 

He wasn't sure when he dialed Nina Howard's number that she would take his call, but he needed to ask her what information she had on Mac that had prompted her to ask him what he knew about Mackenzie trying to get her crew killed in Pakistan. As he listened to her phone ring, he thought back to the time he had started to bribe her . . . Wasn't Nina's take down piece on Mackenzie supposed to be about her mental instability? It was all sounding eerily like Jerry Dantana's fucking complaint. Had Nina been one of Dantana's sources? Pay back for the way he'd treated her at the end. Shit!

To his surprise, Nina agreed to meet him at an out of the way Starbucks in the Village. He'd started their telephone conversation apologizing for the rude and abrupt way he had ended their relationship after his morning show appearance. She brushed it off, saying it had been coming for a while. He explained that he was doing some research into the Dantana complaint and asked her if she'd read it. She had. They established that indeed she knew some information about MacKenzie's time in the Middle East, in general, and specifically, about Kabul, and she agreed to bring him a copy of what she had. "Anything for good old AWM," she'd said.

 

Sipping her coffee, Nina asked him how Mac was taking the Dantana situation. Hard, was all he said. They sparred around the edges, with Nina finally admitting that she knew something about Mac's time in Kabul that related to Jerry Dantana's allegations. She insisted that Will tell her first what he knew, and realizing that he was not going to get anywhere any other way, he obtained her promise that everything was off the record, and said, "Mac suffered a miscarriage in Kabul in June of 2007."

Nina's eyes widened. "Yes, basically that's what my source disclosed. Although either your math or your biology's a little off to use that term." When Will just looked at her blankly, she said, "you do know why they crush the skull and cut up the fetus in a partial birth abortion, don't you?"

"Of course. To extract it," he'd replied with irritation, as if she were discussing an irrelevancy. Obviously, he wasn't up on the details of Mackenzie's situation, she concluded, and let it drop.

"When I first got the info, and after Mac's infamous email blast, I figured that she'd gotten pregnant cheating and you'd tossed her out. There were rumors that the guy was Brian Brenner and I was just getting ready to look him up when, miracle of miracles, you brought him to me." Nina flashed him a brittle smile that never reached her eyes. "When he was doing the article on you, he called me to meet up and talk about the great News Year's Eve Champagne Incident. So, while he interviewed me, I interviewed him. Not, bad. I can see what Mac saw in him."

Will cringed internally but kept what he knew to be a bland expression on his face. Score one for Team William. 

"Well, you can imagine my surprise when he told me quite sincerely that he hadn't seen or heard from Mackenzie since the fall of '05. That ruled him out as a candidate for the role of Daddy." She looked at Will intensely, reading him. He held her gaze for as long as he could, but he was the first one to break away. "So, it was you," Nina said softly. "That was your baby. You put her in that room. Jesus." 

"Did you . . . You didn't tell Brian?" The thought that Mac's privacy had been violated was so horrible to contemplate, it rendered Will tongue-tied and impervious to Nina's obvious scorn. 

"That MacKenzie had been pregnant? And had gone through what she did?" Nina stared at him for a long moment and he thought he saw hurt in her eyes. Then, she tossed her head and said, "of course not! Divulge information on a juicy exclusive like that one to another reporter? You must be joking!"

"Did you give it to Jerry Dantana?"

Peals of mirthless laughter enveloped Will. "You fool! He gave it to me. Or rather, he gave it to Reese Lansing, who gave it to me. Reese didn't like 'Will's Ex' as he called MacKenzie back then, and he certainly didn't like her influence over you. He was probably the only person at ACN who was happy when I was dating you. Anyway, right after Charlie hired her, Reese let it be known that there were many many Brownie points available for anyone who could dig up some dirt that he could use against Mackenzie. As you will see when you open the file, one of Dantana's regular contacts was the manager of the Washington Hilton or the D.C. Ritz, I can't remember . . . "

Will closed his eyes. "Who had been the Manager at the Intercontinental in Kabul in 2007."

"Bingo."

Nina stood abruptly. "So, I've brought you a copy of everything I have. And, by the way, I forgive you for the abruptness of our break up. I feel like I got what I deserve. Kidding oneself to the degree I did to deny what I heard in your voice on that message never ends well. And then lying to Mackenzie about what you'd said . . . Definitely not my finest hour."

Her words were barely registering on Will, who was lost in the knowledge that Reese knew . . . Jesus, Reese knows about Kabul! "Uh?"

Anger flashed across Nina's face. "Fuck you, McAvoy, you egotistical prick," she hissed. "Mac's too good for you. I think I may even be too good for you. Tell her something for me, will you? Tell her that I will never print this story." She leaned down close to his face and snarled, "Not because you threatened me or fucked me . . . But because I would never ever do that to anyone who's as fine a human being as MacKenzie McHale."

Grabbing her coat, and tossing a thumb drive onto the table, she started to walk away. "Read it and weep, McAvoy," she said over her shoulder, "Read it and weep."

 

He did. He wept, and locked himself in his bathroom, and vomited up the coffee and pastry he'd had with Nina, until he was dry heaving, with saliva, mucus and tears dripping off his face. He'd refused to speak, been unable to really, until Sloan's third time at the bathroom door. (Christ, why don't their office doors have locks?) When she had threatened to get Charlie, he had finally replied that he was okay. Just having a touch of food poisoning.

The hotel manager, one Robert Hummel, had an excellent memory for detail, although Will assumed that anyone walking into a situation that horrific would have it seared into his brain. After the maid had entered the room at approximately 10:23 local time on June 8, 2007, she had run into the hall screaming hysterically in Pashto. One of the bi-lingual staff members had responded and called his office at approximately 10:25. He and the Assistant Manager had come upstairs directly. They had found a woman, whom they assumed to be the registered guest, MacKenzie McHale, unconscious, dressed only in a faded University of Nebraska t-shirt, lying in a pool of blood on the floor at the foot of the equally blood soaked bed. Next to her, was a bottle of water and nearby, a cellular phone. However, Mr. Hummel was adamant that she had never attempted to contact the Front Desk or anyone else at the hotel during the night or in the morning.

They had assumed at first that she was deceased, but his assistant, who was certified in first aid, had found a weak pulse. As an American hotel, they used U.S. military medical services, which they called. Cradled in one of her arms, the umbilical cord still attached, was the blood and vernix smeared body of a tiny, premature infant boy.


	11. Celebration

Will washed his face three times with cold water in an effort to look less like he'd been crying when he had to face people again. Also, for Mac's sake, he was determined to be pulled together by 2:30 and to have a celebration arranged for that night. He enlisted Lonny's help and then employed Lonny's girl friend, Loraine, who apparently was a party planner, and who promised to have the apartment transformed to his specifications by 10:00 PM when he and Mac would get home. 

Will had told them he was celebrating MacKenzie's and his one month anniversary. Ok, so it was only December 4th, which was a few days early, but it was the best he could do on the fly. He probably should have anticipated that one of them would ask the nature of the event, and thought of a better answer in advance. Then he was blindsided again by a call from Lonny telling him he had found a rare bottle of 2005 Roederer Cristal Brut for a ridiculously low price, and knowing it was a favorite of Mac's, offered to have it chilling on ice when she got home. Will told him to buy it, but clumsily vetoed the idea of serving it that night in favor of some kind of sparkling grape juice, explaining that he and Mac were both trying to cut empty calories and get fit. Will didn't even want to think what Lonny would make of that. As he feared, Mrs. Church had not raised any idiot sons, and as soon as Lonny hung up with Will, he bellowed to Loraine that he knew what Will and Mac were really celebrating.

Will was pondering whether his blunders constituted violating Mac's wishes that her pregnancy be kept secret, when Sloan knocked perfunctorily and then pushed open his office door.

"Taking lessons from Mac?" he asked. "Most people wait for a 'come in' before entering."

"Kenz doesn't knock," Sloan replied. "I knocked. Jeez, bro, you look like shit."

"You really know how to flatter a guy."

"Seriously, is everything alright? I mean besides your being sick and all. Do you know what you ate? Is everything okay with Mac? She's still with Rebecca, right? Jim's been a nervous wreck all morning. I think he looks at the clock every 30 seconds."

"Yes. No. Yes. And yes."

"What?"

"Yes, everything's alright. No, I'm not sure what I ate. Yes, I believe Mac's okay, and yes, she's still with Rebecca. They are going to quit at 2:30. It's not a happy topic for Mac - some of what went on in the Middle East and what Dantana's trying to make out of it, but Rebecca's a formidable force to have in your corner. Jim doesn't need to be so concerned."

"Yeah, I guess," Sloan said, not sounding entirely convinced. 

Nor was Will, but he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and told her he needed to get writing or he wouldn't have anything to say about the Egyptian newspaper boycott, the day's events in Syria or the flap over the CIA's Benghazi Talking Points. Sloan said she needed to get prepping for the spot Mac had asked her to prepare about how widows have more difficulty than others in getting mortgage modifications, and left.

He threw himself into his script, and time began to pass more quickly.

 

Rebecca kept her associates out of the room until she and Mackenzie were done discussing what had happened in Kabul. Mackenzie began by reciting the same events to Rebecca that she had to Will in almost exactly the same words.

"How far along were when you arrived in Kabul?" was the lawyer's first question.

"What?

"How many weeks pregnant were you, Mac?" Rebecca's tone was gentle but firm.

After a pause that seemed to go on forever, she replied, "Twenty-three." Rebecca schooled her expression into a detached neutrality, but not before a gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes flashed with profound sorrow and compassion. Mackenzie was looking down at her hands in her lap when she spoke, and didn't see. 

Mac continued, "Almost viable. I read somewhere that the youngest baby to survive was born at twenty-two weeks, but of course that was with the help of the neonatal intensive care unit at UCLA, not the Intercontinental in Kabul." Something about Mackenzie's flat affect and deadly calm demeanor scared the shit out of Rebecca. 

"Even at a major medical center, very few born that early survive. You know that, don't you, MacKenzie?" When there was no answer, Rebecca went on. "How long were you in labor?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't remember?"

"Is there a difference?" 

Rebecca smiled that slight smile she had that played on only the corners of her mouth, and continued to look at Mac, who continued to stare at her hands. Another long pause.

"It started a little after two. It woke me up."

"Do you remember what time the baby was . . . b . . . " Suddenly, the lawyer's composure faltered.

"You can say born," Mac volunteered quietly, and looked up at Rebecca for the first time. "Yes, I remember. I was pretty weak by then, slipping in and out of consciousness, I think, but I remember. It was daylight. And later I saw my phone. He was born around a quarter to nine." A boy, thought Rebecca. She involuntarily brought the knuckles of her fisted right hand up to her mouth to stop the tremble she felt building in her lips.

"You were in labor alone for over six hours?" It came out somewhere between a horrified statement and a cool deposition question, as Rebecca fought the urge to walk around to the other side of the table and take Mac into her arms. "Why didn't you call anyone to help you?"

"At first, I didn't think it was going to . . . I don't know . . . happen, I guess. I didn't want anyone to know. No one knew I was pregnant. After I started bleeding and realized that I was losing him . . . I didn't think anyone could help. Then, I just wanted to . . . I . . . wanted . . . the pain and the emptiness to end."

"You said you looked at your phone, so you had it near, but there was no one you reached out to; no one you called?"

"I said that I didn't call anyone at the hotel who could help." For the first time, the flat self-possession in Mac's voice was strained.

"That wasn't my question. MacKenzie, look at me, please." When she did, the answer was plain from the pain in Mac's eyes. "Fuck," Rebecca sighed, her shoulders sagging, and it sounded more like a prayer than a curse. Nodding her head slightly, she continued, "Of course. Of course, you did. Does he know?"

"No. At least I don't think so. He has the audio files. I've seen them on his computer, but I don't think he's ever listened to them. And even if he has . . . I don't remember clearly what I said, but I don't think I said anything that would have told him what was happening. I think I said that I was scared a couple of times and wanted to hear his voice even if it was just his answer message. I think I told him I was sorry . . . Asked him not to hate me forever."

For the second time, Rebecca made a strangled little moaning sound. She shut her stinging eyes, as her usually ironclad composure fractured. 

Before she could ask another question, MacKenzie spoke again, "I despise Jerry Dantana. I hate him. I hate him with every fiber of my being. How dare he do this to me? How dare he?" Her voice rose. Her eyes flashed with indignation and anguish. "I've worked so hard for so many years . . . I thought that I had made peace . . . I'd gotten so I could actually walk in the park and see children his age, or, you know, the age he would have been if he'd lived, and I could still breathe. I could smile and talk to them. I could look at Will and not . . . And now . . . I don't know. I just . . . What gives Dantana the right to do this to me? What gives him the goddamned right?" 

Rebecca had risen from her chair when Mac started to speak. She got to MacKenzie just as all of the tears Mac had held back while talking to Will started to flow. Rebecca rubbed soothing circles on her back and told her to let it go, let it out. Then, when Mac stopped shuddering against Rebecca's shoulder and her wracking sobs began to abate, Rebecca spoke softly, promising over and over to do everything in her power to keep Dantana's lawyers from ever questioning Mac about her son.

After few minutes, MacKenzie Morgan McHale, daughter of Lord Edward McHale, the ninth Earl of Ailesbury and former British Ambassador to the United Nations, asked for a tissue, dried her eyes, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stated that they could resume the briefing. 

 

"Hey, you." She appeared just inside his door. The sight of his MacKenzie, pale and tired, but so incredibly strong and beautiful, thrilled and humbled him. He knew he was staring, as he worked his throat, trying to get his emotions under sufficient control to speak. What did she remember, he wondered, of the birth, the stillbirth, his mind amended, of her child, their child, his son. Could anyone remember, or was it could anyone forget, such a trauma. And if she did have memories, would they seem real or be like some sort of nightmare, distorted and untethered. Nightmare! Of course, it wasn't the stabbing she had been dreaming about, he suddenly realized with blinding clarity. She'd never said that; she'd changed the subject when he'd asked. She'd screamed and screamed reliving the pain and the terror of giving birth alone in a hotel room. What had Nina said - that he'd sent her there; no, it was "put her in that room." Oh, God!

Get this under control, he demanded of himself angrily. Say something! Smile at her. But still he could only look at her, study her, as if she were a work of art.

She spoke first, smiling at him.

"Billy, the last flight from Kabul to JFK leaves in two minutes, and we have to be on it. We have a news broadcast to produce and air. We need to be here."

Where did her courage come from? He could only marvel at it.

"More importantly, I need to stay in the present . . . ." MacKenzie trailed off. Then she walked toward his desk, stopping about six inches from where he sat. "Being pregnant changes things . . . I can't afford to sink . . . I can't fuck this up again. I won't survive. All that I can allow to matter to me right now are the three people in this room. I need you to help me, Will. You've got to protect us." The last was said in barely more than a whisper.

He stood, wrapped her in his arms, and held her tight. Protect, yes. That he could do. That Will McAvoy knew how to do.

 

The TV News gods, Ed, Walter, David and Chet, smiled down on them, and the show that night was smooth and flawless. Mac had actually slept a couple of hours in Will's office, stretched out on his sofa, with her head on his thigh, while he and Jim made last minute changes to the script. Sloan had come in and basically melted at the sight, saying, "you know, bro, she really is every bit as cute as she thinks she is," referring to one of Will's more infamous cuts at Mac, and was rewarded by Will bending down, kissing MacKenzie's cheek and saying, "no; much, much cuter." He knew that Sloan adored watching him be affectionate.

That night, Jim and Mac switched off EP-ing segments which proved a little disconcerting for Will, but was better than Mac trying to learn everything that would have been necessary for her to have done it all herself. Will thanked the audience for watching them, signed off, and he and Mac were in the car and on the way home by 9:30. 

Will heard Lonny's cell phone beep with three successive text messages - the signal from Loraine that all was ready at home. He could hardly wait. As they rode up in the elevator, he felt like a little boy on Christmas Morning, or rather, like he imagined it was for little boys in normal homes. John McAvoy had ruined more Christmases than Will cared to remember.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Oh, thinking about what I'm going to do to you when we get inside. Here we are." They stepped into the hall.

"Will, there's music coming from the apartment. We didn't leave music on this morning." Sure enough, even through the door, Van Morrison could be heard singing, "she's as sweet as tupelo honey, she's an angel of the first degree."

"Don't know. Let's see." And with that he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The foyer looked like a magical forest of brightly colored trees. Dozens of helium balloons were floating on the ceiling, their rainbow hued ribbons hanging nearly to the floor.

"Billy! Billy!" Mac's hands came up and were clasped at her chin. She beamed at him, grinning as unselfconsciously as any small child. "You did this?"

"Well, with a little help from my friends."

"Oh, Billy." She threw herself at him, knocking him off balance and almost sending them both to the floor. Then, she was kissing him and laughing. "Thank you. You really are the most perfect boyfriend ever."

"Boyfriend? I'm a lot more than your boyfriend, lady," Will replied with mock sternness, as he gathered her hair back out of her face to look into her eyes.

"Yes. Yes, you are." Love and pleasure beamed back at him. It caught him for a moment - her happiness. How could she be this sane, this intact? Part of him wanted to sink down onto the floor and beg her to forgive him for not being there with her, to tell her that he was so so sorry, that he would carry that sorrow with him everyday, carry his guilt to his grave. But that wasn't what she needed. Wasn't what she'd asked him to do.

"There's a surprise for you in the bedroom," he said instead.

"Really? There's more?"

"Oh, my dear, my darling, there's more. Much, much more." He kissed her long and hard.

"Umm," she purred.

"Go. I'll be in the kitchen."

The bedroom was a fairyland of softly burning candles and white flowers. Mac saw roses and gardenias and any number of other species whose names she couldn't remember. Laid out on the bed, which was sprinkled with white rose petals, was an exquisite simple antique white satin negligee and matching peignoir from the 1930's. MacKenzie stripped naked and put them on. They looked almost as good as they felt against her skin, she decided, looking in the mirror. She caught a flash of her ring and was struck by the contrast her hand made against the finely woven expensive satin. She smoothed it across her stomach and it rippled like liquid ivory. Or liquid sex, Mac thought with a suppressed giggle. She felt warmth well up at the thought of Rebecca calling herself liquid sex. She had bonded with Rebecca in a way that would have seemed unimaginable a few days before.

Then MacKenzie brushed her hair and walked out toward the kitchen. One of the things, she mused, that she really appreciated about Will's apartment was its radiant floor heating that allowed her to keep her feet bare even in Winter. She found him carrying food from the kitchen to the dinning room. The dining room was decorated in gold and silver. The table was set formally with his best china and crystal. Twenty tall tapers burned in a modern curved holder that looked like molten silver had been spilled down the center of the table. As in the foyer, the ceiling dripped balloons, but these were shinny Mylar, gold and silver with matching streamers. 

They said, "oh!" simultaneously - she when she saw the room, and he when his eyes beheld her. Will ached to touch her, to run his hands along the satin curve of her hip and over the swell of her breast. But he knew if he let himself start, he'd be unable to stop, and she needed to eat. In fact, for at least the next eight months, his purpose in life would be seeing that MacKenzie McHale ate nutritiously and regularly.

He put the food on the table, walked to her chair and pulled it out. "Milady," he said. She nodded graciously, and allowed herself to be seated. Sliding in her chair, he indulged himself with a kiss on the soft milky skin where her shoulder met her neck. "Really, Reginald, you take such liberties," she murmured, thickening her accent, "what if my husband should return unexpectedly." He chuckled, and after pouring some sparkling white grape juice into her champagne flute, seated himself across from her at the table. The food was delicious, and Mac found that she was surprisingly hungry. They spoke of office gossip, worrying over Maggie, speculating about Jim, observing how adorable Sloan and Don were together, and then acknowledging that people, not the least of whom were Don and Sloan, were saying the same thing about them. They talked a little politics and what they planned to do for Christmas, and whether they would make the trip to the UK for which Mac's parents and brothers were lobbying hard. 

As he served desert, Will announced that he had been thinking and concluded that they should give the baby three names, all of which should begin with the letter, M. For a girl, he was leaning toward, Melissa Margaret Morgan McAvoy. As soon as Mac got over her initial shock and realized that he was joking, she got into the game, and suggested Michael Mitchell Mason McAvoy for a boy. They continued in this vein, laughing harder and harder, until they had used up all of that M names they knew and started making them up. When Will got to Mistletoe Macosteel Marnivy McAvoy, MacKenzie went running into the bedroom giggling with her hands covering her ears. Will turned off the lights around the apartment and followed her.

He left the music playing, and as Will entered the bedroom, he recognized the opening strains of Coldplay's Paradise. Perfect, he thought. And then he saw her. Yes, it was paradise. She was standing back lighted at the window looking out on the city lights, a sort of halo around her. She had taken off the peignoir and her body looked long, sleek and incredibly fragile in the satin gown. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Billy?"

"Not as beautiful as you."

She turned her head and his heart leapt, as it still did almost every time he saw her anew. He came up behind her and put both of his hands on her waist. Then he slid them around over the satin until they met, then down across her belly until they slid apart again, and palms on her thighs, he pressed her against his body. She leaned into him and sighed contentedly. "I love you," he whispered. "God knows, I love you. I love you both."

All the emotions that accompanied his awareness of how close he had come to losing her rushed up to overwhelm him. Flashes of Hummel's statement, flashes of Mac's calm description and the desolation that his life would be, had been, without her swirled in his brain as he laid his cheek against the top of her head. How skillfully Mac had spun him, and he had fallen for it like a novice reporter. He'd even supplied the word miscarriage, he now recalled. She had simply started her narrative after the worst, most horrific events were over so that, clever girl, she never had to characterize or describe them. How many times, he wondered, had she rehearsed her description of the events in order to get just the correct amount of "this went wrong, but that made it right" to spare him and protect him. 

He turned her in his arms and placed his lips ever so softly on hers. The sensation, familiar, yet oddly always new, weakened his knees. Her mouth opened to him and he teased her lower lip with his teeth and tongue. Then he trailed kisses up the side of her face, across her brow and onto her eyelids. Her arms wrapped his shoulders, first clutching hard and then going limp as he moved one of his down her torso and then up to caress her breast through the thin satin. He moved her to the bed, easing her down while never taking his lips from her face, her neck, her shoulders. 

He shed his own clothes, but stopped her when she started to remove hers. He knelt on the bed and stretched her across at his knees. He gathered both of her wrists in this left hand and placed them above her head. When he saw her eyes open and go wide, he had a moment wondering if Mackenzie, always so in control, would mind having her arms pinned but she only moaned softly and closed her eyes again.

As he had hoped, the smooth fabric provided enough of a buffer that he could caress her sensitive breasts and tease her nipples without overwhelming her with sensation. His hands moved over her, and he felt intensely focused and hyperaware of every motion, every nuance, almost as if he were stoned. He could hear the music building and it felt as if it were being created by his hands on Mackenzie's body the same way it came from the contact of his hands on the strings of his guitar. He reached down and slid his fingers under the hem of her gown touching her skin, her incredibly soft skin, for the first time. He heard her breath catch and then shudder out as his hand rose, pushing the silky fabric with it, until his fingers slipped in to caress between her legs. She shuddered more violently than he had expected, and opened her eyes to stare into his smiling ones. Gently, with the light touch of a feather, he drove her up and up until she gasped out his name in orgasm. 

Again and again, sensation building to the point where pleasure intersected with madness, peaking violently and then releasing in a slow luxuriating slide, he used his hands and his mouth to pleasure her. When at last he freed her hands, and she reached up to stroke him, he felt his mind go blank and his senses explode. Even with her, he could not remember wanting, aching, this much or feeling this intensity. 

"You complete me, Billy," she whispered, her voice husky with arousal. "Come. Let me love you."

Afterward, as she lay against him, nestled in his arms, their breathing returning to normal, Mackenzie sleepily spoke again, "you complete me. You complete me, Billy. And you comfort me."

Will McAvoy spent a long time after Mac fell into a deep untroubled sleep listening to the sound of her even breathing and feeling her steady heart beat. Eyes closed, tears trickled down the sides of his face, tears of joy and expectation and tears of sorrow and remorse. Then brushing them away, he turned slightly, molded himself around the form of his closest friend and most trusted partner, and went to sleep.


	12. Billy's Day

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

MacKenzie woke abruptly, breathing hard, with her heart pounding. She sat up and looked over at Will, who, she observed thankfully, appeared to be sleeping soundly. She lay back down, trying to slow her breathing. It was not even dawn and she wanted another hour or two of sleep. Strange dream. Not really a nightmare, well, not until the end, and then mercifully she had awakened quickly.

In the dream, she had been walking through a park, not Central Park, but familiar just the same. Green Park in London, she thought. She was hugely pregnant and strolling placidly. Then she spotted the child up ahead of her on the path. He was a blond little boy of about 5 or 6, clad in blue jeans and a stripped anorak, just passing from toddlerhood into childhood. He seemed happy and unafraid although he was completely alone. Somehow she knew that she was supposed to catch him, that he was too young to be out in the park by himself. She started to speed up her stride, just as he began to run. She could hear him laughing, thinking that this was some sort of game. She tried to run, but her pregnant body was heavy and clumsy. She called out, "slow down, William. Stop. Come back here." She didn't seem to know why she knew his name. Then he turned and said, "catch me, Mummy." An instant later, she was plunged into heat and darkness. "No! No!" her dream self shrieked. She saw blood on her hands and arms. She was naked except for a soft shirt that was pushed up almost to her breasts. Stretched across her belly was a tiny form. Her hands reached down for it and she could feel movement against her. It made a weak faint sound like the soft mewling of a new born kitten.

If there had been more to the dream, MacKenzie could not bring it to mind. She lay pressed against Will's sleeping body and let her thoughts drift. She had heard somewhere that the hormonal shifts of early pregnancy could cause strange and vivid dreams. She tried for a second to recall if she'd had such dreams the last time, but then forcibly stopped herself from going there. She closed her eyes and used one of the meditation techniques she'd learned to calm her mind and soon drifted back to sleep. When she woke again, the details of the dream had faded.

Will was awake and playing with a lock of her hair. He smiled as her eyes opened and gave her a slow and languid kiss on the mouth. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" When she just purred, he chuckled. "You know," he said, "I'm definitely coming back as a woman next time. 

"Umm? Why would that be?" She shifted so that she was half on top of his chest and reached up to caress his face.

"I'll give you three guesses. Or perhaps I should say eight or nine guesses."

"Yes, but just being a woman isn't enough. You have to be lucky enough to have the right man." She kissed his throat, and shifted so that she could look into his eyes. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it seems to make more sense than the idea that you only go around once and then end or float eternally in the ether. Do you?"

"Sometimes. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a newborn baby? There's something in there that's, I don't know, complete, I guess, or integrated. Their eyes are unfocused and I'm not saying it's like making eye contact with Mahatma Gandhi, but it's like they've brought something with them that can't be explained."

"No," Will said, "I've never. When have you?"

"My niece. Julian's daughter was born when I was passing through the UK on my way back to New York . . ." Suddenly, Mac froze like someone having a petit mal seizure, her attention completely removed from the moment. In that instant, she was transported back to the hospital and the infant girl being placed into her arms. It had been one of the most painful moments of her life, although she believed that she had covered it well enough, and that in their joy, no one in her family had noticed. She was seeing the baby's face again in her mind when it morphed into a different face, an infant whose open eyes were both foreign to her and eerily familiar. She stifled a gasp, and fought to regain her composure. Looking at Will's slightly baffled and concerned expression, she smiled and patted his chest. "Well, you will soon enough, Mr. McAvoy. Come on. It's time to get up. And I'm not feeling queasy this morning so let's take advantage of it and have a couple of my deluxe cheese omelets for breakfast."

 

Back in his office after the morning pitch meeting, Will downloaded the files that Nina had given him onto his hard drive and then telephoned Rebecca and arranged an appointment at her Battery Park office for an hour later. Mac was consumed with preparing the rundown, and barely seemed to register his telling her that he was going out to run a few errands or asking if she needed him to pick up anything for her. Pocketing Nina's thumb drive, he called Lonny and then went down to the garage to wait.

He knew that he was going to have to tell Mac about what he'd learned and show her Hummel's statement, but now he was skittish. It would surely upset her to face the degree of Dantana's knowledge. If he hated the thought of Jerry Dantana reading about her lying half unclothed in a pool of her own blood, how invaded would she feel? Will was concerned that she would react badly to the fact that he'd seen Nina, but told himself that was ridiculous. Mac was far more secure than he had ever been and wasn't really the jealous type. And then there was Reese. Reese! Will could feel himself grinding his teeth. He knew that Mac would despise the fact that Reese had been privy to her most personal agony. Will clenched his fists with the desire to smash them into Reese's face. At bottom, it had been Reese's dislike of MacKenzie that had brought all of this down upon her.

"Who you thinkin' about killing, McAvoy?" Lonny's voice brought him abruptly out of his reverie. God, he hadn't even heard the SUV drive up. Granted it was a hybrid, but still. 

"Rather not say. If he turns up dead anytime soon, I'd hate you to be able to testify against me." Will got into the car and gave Lonny Rebecca's firm's address. 

"How was last night?" Lonny asked, smiling into the rear view mirror. 

"You didn't see my text to Loraine this morning?" 

"No, but I heard about the tip you sent her. We're thinking maybe a week in the Bahamas on that baby. Can I infer from that you had yourself a good time?"

"A wonderful time. You should have seen Mac's face when we opened the door. She looked like a child on Christmas."

Speaking of children, Lonny thought. "And how was the food and the vintage on that sparkling white grape juice?" When Will only winced, he continued, "Can't have Mac taking in any of those empty calories, can we? My God, I mean, she must be pushing 118 if she's a pound."

"Lonny . . ." Will said in a threatening tone and then couldn't think of any way to end the sentence.

Lonny laughed. "Your secret's safe with me, Mr. McAvoy. One hell of a fast worker there, ain't ya?"

The question didn't seem to call for answer, but Will couldn't keep his smile from spreading. 

 

The drive with Lonny had done wonders for his spirits, and Will actually entered Rebecca's office with his emotions in check. It didn't last long. He was ushered into Rebecca's impressive corner office, offered coffee and a variety of other beverage choices and seated on a leather sofa in a conversation area. Rebecca came in a moment later looking every inch the professional that she was, and took the leather chair to his right. Sipping his coffee, Will told her that he had something for her that would shed some light on the source of Dantana's allegations about Mac's suicide attempt in Kabul. She took the thumb drive and rotated it in her fingers as he related the story about Nina's asking him a year and a half ago about Mac's mental health, his starting to bribe her and then threatening her to kill the story, and finally his meeting with Nina the day before. 

"Nina Howard gave this to Dantana?" Rebecca asked when he concluded that part of his narrative. 

"No. The source, as you will see, is the Manager of the Kabul Intercontinental." Rebecca winced. "He's now working at some hotel in D.C. I guess Mac's luck ran out cause he just happens to be a regular contact of Jerry Dantana's."

"But how did Nina Howard get her hands on it a year before Dantana came to New York?"

"An excellent question, Counselor." Will felt his blood start to boil. "Reese Lansing."

"What!"

"Yes. Our boy Reese didn't like MacKenzie prevailing upon me to re-enter the world of serious journalism and forsake whoring myself for ratings, so, according to Nina, behind our backs, he put out the word at ACN that anyone who could get any dirt on Mac would be rewarded. Jerry, never one to turn down an opportunity to brown nose the boss, apparently sent Mac's name out to his sources and struck pay dirt. Jerry gave it to Reese, who gave it to Nina." Rebecca kept her face neutral, although Will noticed that her color rose and a vein at her throat seemed more pronounced.

"Well, let's see how bad it is," she said finally. Other than to tell her to start with the Hummel statement, Will didn't speak while Rebecca walked to her desk, inserted the drive, opened the files. But for a few sharp intakes of breath as she read, the room was deathly quiet. Then, Rebecca simply rose, excused herself and left the room.

Will found her standing in the hall outside her office, her arms folded across her body and her head down. He unfolded her arms, took her hand and led her back into her office. "Pretty tough to take," he said quietly. She nodded. 

"I knew some of it," she said. I'd gotten her to tell me that she was twenty-three weeks along when it happened, but still . . . "

"Well, you did better than I did. Christ, I knew it happened in June, and I knew when we broke up and she said that she'd gotten pregnant when she was changing birth control prescriptions and we been sloppy a couple of months before, but I didn't put it all together. I let her make me think it was just a miscarriage, like some pain and then it's over. I mean, I know she said she'd lost a lot of blood, but . . . I don't know what I was thinking . . . There's no way I would have let that slip by me in a witness interrogation or interviewing a source . . ."

"Jesus, Will. Give yourself a fucking break. This isn't a witness or a source, it's MacKenzie, for Christ's sake. After this," Rebecca gestured at the screen, "if you can still put one foot in front of the other, you have my admiration." 

"I've got to tell her about this. It's going to kill her. I started out thinking I could do something to ease her mind. She was chewing, you know how she does, on the question of how Dantana even knew she was in Afghanistan in June when she didn't make contact with her ACN crew 'till the middle of July. She was afraid that the doctor who saved her . . . Did she tell you about him?"

Rebecca nodded. "Danny."

"Yes. She was afraid that somehow he had betrayed her to Dantana. I thought that if I could find out something that would prove that it wasn't him, she'd feel better. Now she gets to find out that Reese betrayed her. Someone she has to work with every goddamned day. Reese gave this to Nina Howard so she could write a fucking take down piece and drive Mac away. How do I tell her that? Or worse, how do I tell her that I know what really happened?"

"My advice is to go to MacKenzie and ask her to take you back there with her. Tell her that you need to know exactly what happened in that hotel room, everything that she can remember without holding anything back or sugarcoating the truth. Ask her to do it for you because it's important to you. She will. You know she will. After that, maybe not the same day, but shortly after, you can tell her that you found out how and why Dantana learned about it. But at least, you'll both be on the same page when you do."

Will nodded. 

Rebecca studied him for a short while, and then asked, "are you angry that she went away without telling you about the baby?"

Will froze. His knee jerk reaction was to say, "no, of course not," but he decided that the question deserved more careful consideration. "I made it nearly impossible for her to tell me," he finally said.

"And . . .?" Rebecca asked.

The answer exploded out of Will in an anguished voice. "I just don't understand why she didn't tell Charlie! He would have . . . It would have been different. He'd have made me . . . I don't know . . . grow up, I guess."

"She feels guilty about that. And she's scared that Charlie's going to be mad at her when he learns what happened."

"He will be. I don't mean really angry at her. Christ, who could be angry at her after what she went through, but he'll be upset. Upset that he sent her to Afghanistan and she didn't tell him she was pregnant. Upset that she didn't let him intervene and make us . . . make me . . . ." Will trailed off, looking miserably at the cold coffee in his cup.

"If it's any comfort to you," Rebecca began slowly, "I believe firmly that if you had known, you would have gone to her, forgiven her, protected her and the baby."

He looked up, eyes shinning. "Thank you. I don't know about comfort, but it means a great deal to me for you to believe that."

 

It seemed that it was Will's morning for painful conversations. When he returned to ACN, he found Jim waiting for him just outside his office. Once seated, Jim began with the news that he'd gotten a call from Rebecca Halliday who wanted to talk to him.

"It can't be about producing Genoa," Jim stated bleakly. "I was on the Red Team, but there's really nothing for me to add to what I told her before."

"Don't be so sure. Sometimes just the act of repetition is valuable in litigation," Will countered.

"No," Jim insisted, "I think that this is about Mac. Rebecca wants me to talk about Mac." He sounded, to his credit, like he would rather have a root canal. "Do you remember when you asked me if I knew what happened to her in Afghanistan and I said she'd never told me?"

"Yes." Will studied him closely.

"That's true," Jim volunteered hastily, "she never did. But she had nightmares. Terrible nightmares. And she talked and screamed in them."

"I know," Will said quietly.

"After a while, you know, she repeats things, and, well, I . . . It seemed like . . . I could guess a few things, at least in general."

Will was silent for a long time. Then he said, "You can be candid with Rebecca. In fact, the best thing you can do for Mac is to be as open and honest with Rebecca as you can be. Mac's told her everything that happened in Afghanistan. She's in Mac's corner. She's not the enemy."

Jim took a deep breath. "This is so hard. When Mac arrived in Iraq, she was . . . I don't know . . . shattered. Sometimes, for minutes at a time, she wasn't there. Wasn't with us. I don't mean that she couldn't do her job, didn't do her job," Jim asserted with such loyalty that it brought the ghost of a smile to Will's lips. "You know, MacKenzie McHale on autopilot is better than three quarters of the EPs in this business on their best days."

"Did she get any kind of help over there, do you know?

"Drugs or a psychiatrist, you mean? Well, we all drank way too much alcohol and smoked too much weed, and Prozac and Xanax were everywhere. Hell, you didn't even need to go to one of the army doctors cause the medics were passing them out. But she didn't like the way they made her feel. Or she didn't like the idea of them. I don't know, but she stopped taking anything pretty early on. Occasionally I could get her to take a sleeping pill when the insomnia got bad. Sometimes in the summer, she couldn't sleep for days. That's when the nightmares would be the worst and I think she was subconsciously keeping herself awake to avoid them."

Will felt physically ill. He saw Jim looking at him with a mix of anger and compassion. Will thoroughly understood the mix of emotions consuming the younger man. When Will didn't speak, Jim continued.

"When either the nightmares or the insomnia got really really bad, Mac would let me sleep with her . . . " Suddenly, Jim looked stricken as if he expected Will to erupt in a jealous rage. "I . . . I . . . don't mean have sex with her . . . We never. . . Everybody slept in their clothes over there." 

"Christ, Jim! Stop! Do you think I could begrudge anything you ever did to try to comfort her?" Will's voice broke.

"That's just it, I never really could comfort her." Now Jim's voice held almost as much anguish as Will's. "No matter what I said . . . What I tried to say or do . . . No matter how out of it she was, even after the stabbing, she always seemed to know I wasn't Billy . . . That I wasn't you." Will lowered his head into his hands as Jim kept talking. "God, I hated Billy!" Jim exploded. "When she was stabbed and I was trying to get her to safety . . . Get her help . . . Keep her from dying . . . I used that hatred as fuel. Somehow if I failed, it would be like Billy had won. Billy had finished the job and entirely destroyed her at last."

Will thought he might vomit or pass out, but he also felt like somehow he should raise his head and take his punishment like a man. He forced himself to look into Jim's eyes. As the two men stared at each other, Jim's expression softened.

"You know what's the strangest thing. I didn't realize at first that you were Billy. Even after you came into the newsroom and saw her that day . . . our first day." Jim chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Man, you looked at her like someone had just landed a sucker punch in your gut. And Mac, maybe only I knew how much it was costing her to stand there. But still, it didn't compute for me. I must have just refused to let it register cause Mac had told me so many times how much I was going to like you and respect your brilliance and skill. But, still . . . " Jim shook his head and smiled again, this time at himself. "I mean, how many guys named William could Mac be in love with?" He spread his hands and looked at Will, who was lost in his thoughts about exactly what it must have cost Mac to come back to News Night. 

"Then later on, in the control room, I heard her call you, 'Billy,' but by then I knew that you hadn't . . . I mean, you still treated her like shit, don't get me wrong, but I didn't think you'd done some of the things that I had believed . . . Things that had made me hate Billy." Thankfully, there was a long pause, while they both just sat and stared off into space each lost in his own thoughts. Neither heard the door to Will's office open.

"Hey, guys. What's happening?" At MacKenzie's voice, they both just about jumped out of their skins. Christ! Would that woman ever learn to knock? "I need to steal Jim for a bit and then get some lunch."

As Jim rose hastily to his feet, Mac gave Will a questioning expression, either about the strange atmosphere in the room or his failure to respond to her prompt about lunch, he wasn't sure which.

"Yea, sure." He and Jim both said, nearly in unison, which caused Mac to raise her eyebrows again.

"Okay," she replied with considerable deliberation. "Let's go, Jim. I'll meet you in half an hour, Will."

When they left, Will took a deep breath, and thought that he just needed to get through the day. Yes, that and give Mac a normal day. Protect her. Protect them.


	13. Plans and Checkups

Six days later. December 10, 2012.

She had expected to dislike him, or at the very least view him with suspicion. But even being in the business of seeing people in love and starting families, Denise Barrington had to admit that Will and MacKenzie were particularly captivating. Will McAvoy in person actually looked younger and more fit than on TV, and with his insatiable curiosity and intense focus, he was irresistibly appealing. MacKenzie seemed contemplative, but also happily wrapped in a protective cocoon of his making. It was like watching the fantasy flip side of MacKenzie's first pregnancy. 

Denise was still a little unclear, alright, a lot unclear, about exactly what had happened back then. She knew that MacKenzie had put off telling Will about the pregnancy for a number of weeks because she felt she had some disclosure to make first. All she would say afterwards was that she had hurt him terribly and they were no longer together. She had fallen into a depression, no, into a state of grief really, that had destroyed her health, and then, with the pregnancy at about twenty weeks, she had disappeared completely from Denise's life. Now, almost six years later, she was back. That morning, the doctor had initially called MacKenzie in alone and asked her if Will was aware of the earlier pregnancy, and had been assured that he knew. It was the only time, Mac had looked anything but radiant. 

Because MacKenzie had not been in for a regular check up in almost a year, Denise took a Pap smear. Then, since she assumed that Mac had as much trouble keeping appointments with her internist as her OB-Gyn, the doctor did a mini-physical and drew blood to get a baseline profile on iron and blood sugars and other good things. She included an EKG to check on the status of MacKenzie's heart murmur, and advised her to schedule an check up with her cardiologist. Mac had her eyes closed and did not see the stricken, terrified look this produced in Will's. Dr. Barrington shook her head and mouthed "nothing to worry about," and he seemed to relax a little. After that, she made a point for his sake of being very clear in pronouncing MacKenzie healthy and fit, and watching the worry lines on Will's face ease. How could he feel this way and yet have turned from Mac and their child before? Something didn't compute.

When Dr. Barrington told Mac she was going to very gently do a breast exam, Will had asked if he could be shown how it was done. He and Mac proceeded to have what was probably the most adorable argument that Denise Barrington had ever witnessed. Will finally prevailed by turning to a geopolitical analogy, pointing out that early detection of a threat to the common good was the purpose of the exercise and therefore keeping half of one's forces in mothballs could not possibly be a rational strategy; consequently, he should certainly be enlisted in the endeavor since he was as familiar with MacKenzie's breasts as anyone. "And more than most," Mac had conceded dryly, allowing the lesson to begin. 

They talked about genetic testing and Dr. Barrington recommended that at 10 or 11 weeks, they do a non-invasive blood test that is highly effective in screening for Down's Syndrome and several other chromosomal abnormalities. When Mac blanched and looked worried, Denise spent some time reassuring her that her odds of various other calamities like being struck by lightning on a golf course were about the same as having a genetically abnormal fetus. They went over Mac's morning sickness symptoms and Will's various treatments, which seemed to be about as good as could be expected, and scheduled another appointment in three weeks time. By then, it was hoped that Dr. Barrington could do an ultrasound that would enable her to make a reasonable prediction of fetal age, and answer the debate about about whether the baby had indeed been conceived on Election Day. "If so, are you going to name it Obama?" she'd asked. "No," Will had countered, "we were thinking about naming it Osama after the President." This caused a giggling MacKenzie to explain that Will had consistently confused the two names, telling everyone that 'we got Obama,' right up until airtime on May 2, 2011. 

Will and Mac stopped to have lunch on their way back to the office. Will felt high as a kite. They sat side by side in a booth, and stared into each other's eyes like love-struck teenagers. 

"So," Will murmured into Mac's ear, "did my doing the breast exam excite you?"

Mac bit her lower lip, determined to stifle the smile that wanted to creep across her face. "Of course not!" she replied haughtily, and then went back to biting.

"Oh, not even a little, tiny, teensy weeny bit?" His voice was low and seductive, as he ran his finger across her lower lip. "Be careful, you're going to draw blood there, and that lip's on my list of The Top 10 Best Body Parts on Earth." 

She relented and smiled broadly. To be loved by him, she thought. There was nothing else she wanted. Nothing else she would ever want. How had she made it through so long without it? She said, "you can always try again later without the inhibiting factor. You know, if we ever decide to go into the performance end of voyeuristic sexual practices, I really don't think that Denise Barrington will be on my list of preferred spectators."

As Will brought their joined hands to his lips, he told her he loved her, and then inquired impishly, "Do you think that we have time to detour home for an hour?" 

Mac just shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Down, boy," she whispered, kissing him on the lips, and under the table, running her hand up his thigh and into his crotch.

"My wife, Queen of the mixed signal."

"No. The hand (she squeezed gently) belongs to your wife. The face belongs to your EP."

Calling her his wife made Will think about his conversation with Rebecca the day before. She'd emailed him a draft of the opposition brief to Dantana's motion to take Mac's deposition, and he'd edited it. Then, they had met in her AWM office to go over it again. The Opposition was good, and he thought and Rebecca agreed, he'd made it better. He was enjoying doing legal work again. Rebecca had told him that he had an open invitation to join her firm if he ever "fell off the wagon" and returned to practicing law. He'd been truly flattered. 

After they had finished discussing the changes in the brief, Rebecca had told him that she had been thinking about ways to protect MacKenzie. Defeating the motion, which they both felt confident she would do, was only dodging the bullet. Mac would clearly remain in the crosshairs of Dantana's sights. "I want to send the message that if he's going to hurt her, he's going to have to get through you." Will was all for that. "How?" He'd asked. "Have the wedding," the lawyer had replied. "Put a band next to that rock on her hand. In fact, I'd like you to marry her and keep it out of the press so that Dantana's forces won't find out until we want them to." Then, she'd smiled like a large cat imagining the fate of a doomed mouse. 

Will had almost asked MacKenzie over lunch how she would feel about getting married around Christmas, but then thought better of it. There was one thing that he wanted to check out first. 

 

That afternoon, Will sent Ted McHale an email message and asked if the Ambassador would be available for a confidential Skype call at 6:30 AM London time. Lord and Lady McHale had welcomed Will back into the family with open arms after Election Day, due in large part to Mac's having assiduously protected Will's image in their eyes over the last six years. When Will had asked Mac about this, she had smiled his favorite smile, cupped his chin in her hands and replied that she had always acted in the hope that it was in her long term self interest not to create a situation where loyalty to her required them to be angry at him. Her roughest patch, she'd informed him, was explaining how Brian Brenner (always "the lovely Brian" to Lady McHale who despised him) had come to be the author of the New York Magazine article about News Night 2.0. ("What did you say?" "That Reese picked him." "Mac! You just lied to them?" "I'm not proud of it, but you try explaining the truth in a way that doesn't make you sound like either a lout or an imbecile." God! He loved her.)

At 1:20 AM that night, Will carefully disentangled himself from a sleeping MacKenzie, found his boxers on the floor, put on a shirt and closing the bedroom door as quietly as he could, went out to the kitchen table, where at exactly 1:30, he placed the call. 

"William, you're up late. How are you my boy? Taking good care of my Mackie, I hope." MacKenzie's father's face filled the laptop screen. He was a youngish looking man of about seventy, trim and dapper, slightly tanned, with salt and pepper hair and wire rimmed glasses. He grinned broadly at Will. Would you still smile at me if you knew what I've done, Will thought soberly. 

"I'm fine, sir. So is Mac. She's sleeping. I'll get right to the point if it's alright with you." Lord McHale nodded. Will continued, "I know you're aware of this lawsuit that Jerry Dantana's brought over his firing after the Genoa debacle. 

"Yes. It's not getting much play over here, but I've followed it some on the internet. If I haven't said it before, I thoroughly enjoyed your commentary about the suit on the show the day it was filed. It was masterful."

"Thank you, sir. I'm not sure if you're aware of the degree to which the litigation is aimed at Mac. Dantana's lawyers' strategy seems to be directed to forcing AWM to settle to protect her. Of course, that's the last thing she would allow to happen. And, frankly, it's the last thing that Leona Lansing wants to do.

"Yes, I imagine that's so, for both Mackie and Lee."

"However, that still leaves us with the threat to Mac."

"Her reputation's strong."

"Yes, sir. It is. But this is aimed at a more personal target as well. There are allegations about her mental health at the time she went to the Middle East and while she was there."

"I see." Ted McHale looked troubled for the first time in the conversation.

"Anyway, I believe that the sooner Mac and I get married, the better I will be able to protect her against Dantana. I need to send him the message that I will dedicate by life to destroying his and anyone else's who harms her. And for that message to have some really sharp teeth, she needs to be my wife, not just my fiancé."

Lord McHale smiled at the passion in Will's voice. "I see. Good show. I must say, William, that's not the usual reason people need to hurry up and get married," he chuckled to himself. 

Will tried to school his face into one of pleasant appreciation of the older man's witticism, but felt like he was failing miserably. Ted McHale had spent decades practicing the skill of reading facial expressions their owners were doing their damnedest to hide. His own smile faded slightly and then broadened as he studied his soon-to-be son-in-law. Will, Lord McHale thought, had reacted to his joke like a child caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. There was an awkward silence. Could Mackie be pregnant already?

"Anyway, sir, I'd like to suggest to Mac that she and I get married here in New York over the Christmas holiday, but I know that she won't want to do anything like that if it will upset her mother. We had talked about having the ceremony here in New York to make it easy for the staff to attend, but . . . " Will raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't want to create a problem for your family, or for Nanny or Emmiline or any of the people from home that I know she'll want to be there." Will started to feel tired. He stifled a yawn. 

"Okay, William. I understand. Why don't you get yourself back to bed? I've got my diplomatic brief so to speak. I'll test the waters over here and report in. Take care. Love to Mackie."

When he returned to his bedroom, Lord McHale said to his wife, "William wants to get married immediately. Over the Christmas holiday in New York."

"MacKenzie's pregnant."

"I suspect so. He didn't say. He told me that he feels he will be better able to protect her in this whole Dantana business if she has the title of his wife."

"I assume that makes sense," Lady McHale replied. "New York," she mused. 

"I think they feel that most of their staff wouldn't be in a position to come to London."

"Yes, of course. Well, I guess I'd better start sorting out how to make this happen."

"You can't let on to Mackie that Will called or I've told you anything.

"Of course not! Heavens, Teddy, what do you take me for? I haven't been a diplomat's wife all of my adult life for nothing."

 

When Will returned to his bedroom, he found his fiancé fast asleep. He snuggled in beside her. Kissing her lightly on the forehead and the lips, he soon drifted off.

She was sleeping peacefully. The dream came later, as they usually did, towards morning. Someone was putting a baby into her arms, but the baby seemed too still and cool to the touch. Sleeping. "Tessa?" Her niece. "This is Tessa?" her dream self asked. "No. It's William," said a voice she couldn't place. "Who are you?" she asked. "Don't you remember me, Mac? Surely, you haven't forgotten." "Danny? Danny!" "Do you want me to bury the baby?" Danny's voice, laced with compassion, softly inquired. "Bury Tessa? No! No!" She was beginning to panic. "You can't bury Tessa!" she started to scream. Then Danny's face appeared, sorrowful and kind. His eyes bore into her. He seemed to be in pain. "No." he said, "I need to bury William." She looked down at the tiny still face. She ran a finger slowly over the infant's chin. "See," she said to Danny, "this is Billy's. He has Billy's chin." 

At that, MacKenzie woke with a jolt. She felt insanely frightened, and really, just plain insane. What was producing these images? Why would her subconscious make this stuff up? But even as she lay there, praying that Will would not awaken, the dream began to fade until all that she was left were the disjointed remnants of her roiling mind. William. A name she almost never called Will. Yet the same name she had given (because really wasn't it all just her) to the older little boy in her other dreams. Trembling slightly, she curled next to Will and tried to fall back to sleep.

 

In the end, Will gave MacKenzie almost a week of normal days. There had been no more nightmares, or at least none of which he was aware. She was eating well, and working with her usual dedication. Other than being nauseous most mornings (she was really getting to depend on the Finnish toast) and tiring a little more easily than she used to do and therefore napping in his office a couple of times, Mac seemed to be content. 

After hearing back from her family that everyone who mattered would be able to attend a late December wedding in Manhattan, Will had enlisted Rebecca's aid and with considerable debate, secured MacKenzie's consent to a December 28th wedding date. Mac and Will had called her parents, who well played their roles of the surprised and delighted parents of the bride. Leona ("I'm never going to have a daughter, McMac, so let me do this") Lansing had inserted herself as Margaret McHale's stateside assistant, telling Mac that all she and Will needed to do was show up at the appointed time. "That's what I'm afraid of," Mac had mumbled under her breath.

So, day after day, Will put off upsetting the applecart by acting on Rebecca's advise and requesting that Mac relive the events in Kabul. Thus, he avoided telling her about his conversation with Nina, or giving her the information that Nina had given him. Later, he would wonder how long they could have gone on like that - how long he would have procrastinated if it all had not been taken out of his hands by the actions of a mentally unstable 20-year old college drop-out named Adam Lanza.


	14. December 14, 2012

It started out like any other day. Mac and Will arrived around 8:00 AM and went their separate ways. Mac closeted herself in her office to read and highlight the morning papers. Staffers floated in, hung up coats, got coffee, gossiped and greeted each other. Jim put his head into Mac's office to let her know he had arrived. Maggie did the same for Will. Charlie did a brief walk through on his way to his office, noting that all was well in his kingdom. 

Then, everything changed. The news alert came in at approximately 9:40. It stated simply that at 9:35:39 AM, a call had been received by a 911 dispatch operator, reporting that gunshots could be heard inside the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Maggie picked it up, and it was relayed to Jim and then to Mac and Will. The next alert stated that Newtown police had arrived at the school approximately four and a half minutes after the 911 call, followed by officers from the Connecticut State Police. No shots were fired after the arrival of the police, who were going through the school room by room. By 10:00 AM, the alerts were red, and reporting that there were numerous casualties, many of them children. By then, the newsroom was alive with activity, as people hit the phones, confirming facts and contacting sources. By 10:10, after Tess hung up from a call with a contact at Danbury Hospital, and Kendra reported that her source had confirmed that the New York City Medical Examiner's office was dispatching a portable morgue, Charlie, Will and Mac, after consultation with Reese, had decided to break into ACN's regular programming and put Will on the air. 

"How do I report this, Mac?" he asked as he pulled the plastic cover off of the suit, shirt and tie that Kendra had brought into his office. He saw his hands trembling and was reminded of MacKenzie's first day back in his life, when he had also gone on air without a rundown and without a script. His hand had trembled then too, although he suspected that then it had more to do with Mac being close enough to touch after so long than trepidation about winging it on the Deepwater Horizon coverage. Now, he trembled because although details were still sketchy, something told Will McAvoy that he was about to report on a tragedy of horrendous proportions.

"You need to make it mean something, Billy, something more than just death and blood and other people's pain. It's not about giving people a ringside seat to carnage. It's about stimulating them to ask the important questions." 

And so, after reporting the basic facts that were known about the shots heard inside the school and the 911 call, Will addressed the audience.

"We've come to expect the news and information media to provide us with sideline seats to our fellow human beings' most private agonies. There is something fundamentally amiss and dehumanizing in that type of news coverage. And yet, we humans are curious animals. A gunman enters an elementary school in a small Connecticut town, and we want to know about it. Who is he? Why is he there? What does he want? What damage has he done? 

"When faced with the kind of horrendous news story that appears to be unfolding from Newtown today, we all, and we in the media especially, must undertake the struggle of reconciling our appropriate thirst for information with the danger of simply spewing out a stew of fact, conjecture and innuendo that turns us into detached voyeurs feeding some dark side of ourselves on the pain of others. Therefore, I commit to you that what you will hear on ACN's coverage of this tragedy are the facts as we learn and verify them in the context of what we believe to be the larger societal issues implicated in this tragedy -- the increasingly rapid resort to violence to solve our problems, our response as a society to mental illness and the nearly unfettered access that we seems to have in this country to firearms whose only purpose is the killing and maiming of our fellow man."

"Take it to commercial, Will," he heard Mackenzie's subdued voice in his ear. 

When they were clear, he looked into camera one and asked, "how'd I do, Mac?"

The reply was a whispered, "oh, Billy," which he thought might have been the finest compliment he'd ever received in his journalistic career. 

As the morning progressed, ACN went back and forth between its regular programming and Will's Breaking News reporting and commentary. Elliot and Don were called in early so that Elliott could prep for spelling or joining Will assuming that as the police investigation progressed, the volume of news to be reported would increase. Also as the day progressed, MacKenzie became increasingly withdrawn. 

"Have you seen her like this before?" Will stopped Jim in the hallway.

"Yes. Just keep an eye on her. I will too."

 

It also became apparent that Mac was not the only one having problems coping with events. Although not confirmed officially, they had gotten two reliable reports that the gunman had been found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The same sources had reported that he had gone from classroom to classroom on his killing spree and that in one, the bodies of two young teachers had been found shielding and cradling the bodies of at least a dozen small children. Charlie, Mac and Will decided that the reports were credible enough to air. 

After the Breaking News logo faded, Will looked into the camera. "ACN has confirmed unofficially that the body of a lone gunman has been found by police inside of the Sandy Hook Elementary School, dead from an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound. The same sources report that the gunman had walked through a portion of the school, killing indiscriminately, and that inside one of the first grade classrooms, police discovered the bodies of two young women, teachers at the school, who were surrounded by and clutching the bodies of a number . . . of . . . their . . . . " Will trailed off, his eyes glistening with tears, his lips clearly trembling as his mental image of the scene he was reporting mixed in his head with the image he had created of MacKenzie and his son from Hummel's account. 

"B . . . Will," Mac hastily substituted, realizing that calling him Billy wasn't going to help. "You're okay. Just finish. We got something queued," she glanced hastily at Martin, who nodded, "to take you out."

"Clutching the . . . bodies of a number of their young students. The sources confirm that these young women obviously died hoping to save the children." Will took a deep breath. "Let's all take a moment to reflect that these lives, and others that we will doubtless be hearing were lost today inside the school are someone's children, brothers, sisters and spouses. They completed loving families that have now been forever diminished by a senseless act of violence. I'm Will McAvoy and this has been ACN Breaking News."

Mac walked out into the bull pen, head down, arms crossed, hands clutching her upper arms, to talk to Neal. "Are they slamming him on the internet?" she inquired.

"What? Oh. No. Almost no one. Just the opposite. Lots of tweets are comparing him to Cronkite breaking down announcing that Kennedy had died."

Just then, Maggie, who had been on a telephone call, put the receiver against her shoulder and called out to Mac, "I have a guy here who says he's the father of a Sandy Hook student . . . One of the survivors," she added hastily when she saw Mac's stricken look. "He says that he and his wife are so impressed by the sensitivity of Will's coverage that they are willing to talk to us, and maybe even be interviewed."

MacKenzie, who'd started walking over as Maggie spoke, arrived and put the phone call on the speaker. "Hello, this is MacKenzie McHale, I'm Will McAvoy's executive producer. I understand that you have a child who was . . . "

"Yes, we have a daughter in the first grade. She ran . . . ." His voice broke. "She's alive, but she says that all of her friends are dead."

Mac closed her eyes. "What can we do for you, Mr. Uh?"

"Jenkins, Dick Jenkins. My wife's Kathy and our daughter is Molly. Molly Jenkins. I . . . we . . . thought maybe Mr. McAvoy might have some questions we could answer. Not, Molly, of course. Kathy and me. We've had ACN on and some of the others and he's just . . . He just seems to be so much more compassionate than some of the other reporters. I mean I assume that's not faked . . . . 

"No. No, I can assure you it's not faked. He's one of the kindest, most compassionate people . . . . " Mac's voice wavered slightly.

"Is he a father? Does he have kids?"

Mac froze for several seconds. Her face blank and masque like. Most of the people in the bull pen assumed that she was weighing whether telling Mr. Jenkins that Will had no children was going to cost them the interview. Only Sloan heard Jim say under his breath, "Fuck. Fuck." 

"Uh. Um." Mac started to recover. "No," she finally said, "he doesn't have children of his own. Nieces and one nephew, I believe." At that moment, Will entered the room. "Mr. Jenkins, Will just came in. Why don't I let him talk to you." As Will walked over, she briefed him quickly on the caller and fled.

 

Will entered her office about fifteen minutes later. "We're vetting Jenkins now. Assuming it all checks out, I'm going to put him, or both of them on live."

Mac nodded, keeping her head down. Will walked up to her, raised her out of her chair and folded her in his arms. She let him take most of her weight. "But, Kenzie," he said softly, "I need a favor."

"Anything. You know that, Billy."

"I want you to switch with Don. You take Elliot and give me Don." When she pulled her face away from where she had buried it against his chest to give him a surprised look, he continued, "I can't do this . . . I just can't talk about all of these people losing their children with the mother of mine in my ear. I know that you don't want to tell people you're pregnant so we'll have to think up an excuse, but I need this . . . I almost lost it once when I let my thoughts go to you out there . . . I can't let that happen again.

"Of course. We can just say, you need a change. Whatever. I'll talk to Don and Elliot. No one's going to question it." She patted him reassuringly. "You're doing so well, Billy. I'm so proud of you. I love you so much."

 

News continued to trickle in. More and more sources reported or confirmed that most of the dead were students in the first grade. As the casualty count continued to rise, it became clear that Sandy Hook would go down in history as one of the country's most horrific acts of gun violence. Dick and Kathy Jenkins checked out and were scheduled to be interviewed from their home a little after 1:00 PM. A crew, which included Maggie as producer, was dispatched to Connecticut. 

 

Will catered lunch. Mac ate little and said almost nothing. Both Jim and Will kept looking at her as if she were a grenade about to detonate. Everyone noticed and commented on it when they thought Mac, Will and Jim were out of earshot. It was Sloan who cornered Jim first when the meal concluded. "What the hell is going on with MacKenzie?"

To Jim's misfortune, he said the first thing that came into his head, which was "nothing." He felt Sloan's hands gather up fistfuls of his shirt as her face filled his field of vision. "Listen, Jimmy Olsen, don't give me that shit. I have eyes and ears. She's not been herself all day, and you've been trailing her like some sort of watchdog, so what gives? Is she sick? Having trouble with Will? Spit it out!"

"She'll be okay. It's just . . . stuff . . . It's been a stressful day in case you haven't noticed. Everybody's sick at heart and exhausted. Will practically broke down on air. What do you want from her? A rendition of 'On the Good Ship Lollypop'?"

"I just want to know she's okay."

But she wasn't. The afternoon wore on and it became clear that more than a dozen young children had lost their lives. The names of the children started to be reported, although the coroner had yet to release an official list. Mac became increasingly withdrawn into her own world. She spoke only to answer a direct question or occasionally to cue Elliott. 

Shortly after 2:30, when she could restrain herself no longer, Sloan accosted Will at the news desk during a three minute break. Her face was a mask of fury. Her eyebrows knit together as only Sloan's could be, and her eyes flashing with emotion. "What the fuck is going on?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice from rising. "Are you taking care of her? Have you looked at her lately?"

"Yes, Sloan, I am taking care of her." He said as softly and calmly as he could.

"Why is she this way? Has something gone wrong between you two?"

"No. I assure you, MacKenzie and I have never been closer. She's going through a very rough time right now. The best thing you can do for her is to trust me. I know she will tell you about it as soon as she feels she is able."

"Jim knows," Sloan said miserably. God! Really! Parenting 101, Will thought.

"He doesn't know it all. And what he does know is not because he was told. It's because he was over there with her." 

"Okay." Sloan seemed to have calmed down. "She's just frightening me."

"I know."

"I love her. Promise me you're taking care of Kenz."

"I'm taking care of Kenzie," he said in a voice filled with love and determination. Sloan's eyes widened in surprise. She had never heard Will use that name for MacKenzie before. "I called her Kenz and Kenzie long before you did" was all he said.

 

In fact, it had driven him crazy when Sloan had first started to call Mac, "Kenz" and "Kenzie." Those had been names that he had reserved for their most intimate moments. Of course, Sloan had had no way of knowing that, but he was royally pissed at Mac for not asking her to stop using his pet names. That had come out one Sunday morning in mid-November when he had answered Mac's cell phone and Sloan had asked for "Kenzie." After Mac and Sloan had hung up, he had exploded. 

"Why the fuck did you allow her to start that? Was it so hard to just say, 'Sloan, I'd rather you not call me that?'"

"Why didn't you? You could have said, 'Sloan, I'd rather you not call Mac, Kenz or Kenzie.' She would have understood."

Mac had seemed genuinely surprised that it bothered him as much as it did, which had angered him even more, "of course it fucking flips me out that she can call you those names when I can't," he'd shouted.

"Why can't you?" she'd asked reasonably. "Why can't you call me Kenz or Kenzie anymore? I always loved it when you did," Mac had said softly, head down, obviously cowed by the strength of his emotions.

"Because . . . Because . . ." Why the hell not, Will had finally asked himself. They weren't names for the newsroom was the only answer he could give himself, but their relationship wasn't confined to the newsroom anymore. "Because it hurt too much to think of you like that," he'd finally blurted out. "And now Sloan's taken them." He had sounded childish even to himself. 

"Billy, if I had known . . . " she had begun. "Okay, maybe I should have known, or maybe I did know and I was getting back at you for punishing me for so long." She shook her head. "I have no problem with you and Sloan both calling me Kenz. I would love it if you would start again. Kenz was someone you loved and trusted. MacKenzie ripped your heart out. If you want me to, I'll tell Sloan the next time I see her that I'd like it if she would stick to Mac or MacKenzie in the future."

Will had thought about it for a long time. "No," he said at last. "I can share Kenz with Sloan."

 

They got a break from the coverage at 2:45, and Will had taken Mac into his office and closed the door. No one disturbed them until the last possible minute before the Breaking News logo went up again a little after 4:00. The police had just released names of the confirmed dead. It was decided that Will would simply read the names and ages and, if adults, their positions at the school. 

"This is Will McAvoy. We now have a partial list of those who lost their lives in Newtown today. The shooter has been identified as twenty-year old Adam Lanza, a resident of Newtown. His mother, fifty-two year old Nancy Lanza has been found dead at her home in Newtown. She was apparently her son's first victim. The following, in alphabetical order, are confirmed to have been Mr. Lanza's victims at the school."

The first line that came up on the TelePrompTer was "Charlotte Bacon, aged six." Will felt his throat close. Oh, God, he thought, why did her name have to be Charlotte. That was the name he and Mac both liked for a girl. Charlotte, Charlie for short, after Charlie Skinner. "Will," Don said softly in his ear, "you can do this. Take a breath and do this." Mac simply looked on in horror, as did Elliot. The moment passed, Will took a breath and said in a clear, respectful tone, "Charlotte Bacon, aged six."

"Daniel Barden, aged seven. Rachel D'Aveno, aged twenty-nine, a special education teacher at the school. Olivia Engel, aged six. Josephine Gay, aged seven. Dylan Hockley, aged six. Dawn Lafferty Hochsprung, aged forty-seven, the Principal of the Sandy Hook Elementary School. Madeline Hsu, aged six. Catherine Hubbard, aged six. Jesse Lewis, aged six. Anna Marquez-Greene, aged six. James Mattioli, aged six. Grace McDonald, aged seven. Anne Marie Murphy, aged fifty-two, a teacher whose body was found shielding those of her students. Emilie Parker, aged six. Jack Pinto, aged six. Noah Pozner, aged six. Caroline Previdi, aged six. Jessica Rekos, aged six. Avielle Richman, aged six. . . ."

On and on it went. Each time Will said another name, said "aged six," MacKenzie felt it like a physical blow. Finally, she told Elliot, who was also on the desk, that they were just going back to regular programming when Will was through, so she was going to leave him now. She took off her headset, and ignoring Don's incredulous stare, left the control room. She took refuge in a little used editing bay where she used to hide when Will's hurtful remarks or just the effort of being with him got to be too much. She leaned against the wall and let her tears flow.

 

He found her there. He stood in the doorway, shaking. "Mac . . . Mac," he said brokenly, taking her into his arms, "They were all . . . Dear God . . . ." His breathing was ragged. "They were all . . . Almost every one of them was six years old."

She sagged against him so fast and hard that he thought for a moment she had lost consciousness. He reflexively tightened his arms to break her fall. But a second later her arms came around him and clutched him in a vicelike grip. He thought about the expression "hanging on for dear life." That was what she was doing. MacKenzie was hanging onto to him to save her life. 

"Mac . . . Mac . . . 

Her breathing turned to gasps, and she couldn't seem to speak. Then, she let go of him and doubled over, his arms still supporting her. "Can't . . . breathe . . . Can't . . . get . . . my . . . ." Like the night in her apartment after reviewing the complaint, disjointed images assailed her as her vision tunneled and her ears rang -- bringing a baby too weak to suckle to her breast, bleeding and gasping for breath as waves of agony flowed through her, looking into the open eyes of the child, and watching him take his last breath. MacKenzie sank to the floor and Will went with her. These were images from her dreams, her nightmares. Surely, they weren't real, weren't memories. 

As they slid to the ground, Will looked out the door and down the corridor to see Jim, who had undoubtedly come looking for Mac, turn around and stand guard, protecting Mac's privacy. Will held her against him, stroking her hair, whispering that she was safe and loved until her breathing slowed. "Billy," she gasped, "Billy, I think I'm going crazy."

"No, sweetheart. No, Kenzie. You're not. You're too strong, too magnificent to go crazy. Besides, if you can say it, you're not crazy. The real crazies don't know it. They all think they're sane." He was rewarded with a weak smile. "Mac, I think that you've lived through something that you've had to suppress for a very long time in order to survive. I think that now your mind knows that it's safe enough to begin to process those things."

He turned her in his arms, caught her face, and stared deeply into her eyes. "Please, please, Mac, I need you to do something for me. I need you to take me back there with you, to when the baby came. I need you to share with me everything that you can remember. No holding back. No saving my feelings." When she looked frightened, he said, "I'll be right there with you. I'll never let anything harm you again." And as he spoke, Will realized that this was not a strategy for delivering the revelation about Reese and Dantana, not something that Rebecca had devised, but Will's most fundamental truth. He did need to know. He needed to hear it all from her as much as he needed his next breath. And, more than that, he felt convinced that it was what MacKenzie needed as well. They both needed to be wrapped in each other's arms and share what had happened to their child.


	15. Voice Messages

They were home at last. Will thought that Mac looked more exhausted and pale than he had ever seen her, more so even than she had in the Hair and Makeup Room on Election Day when he had stuck the knife into her gut and twisted it more viciously, he now realized, than the man on the street in Islamabad ever could have. She had kept her eyes closed for almost the entire ride from the ACN building to Will's apartment. Other than Lonny saying, "rough day," and complimenting them both on the ACN's coverage of the Newtown tragedy, hardly a word had been spoken.

"Do you want to watch Elliot?" Mac asked quietly. "I feel like we sort of owe it to him and Don, having left them like we did. And, after today, if you want a drink, don't let my inability to join you, stop you." He just kissed her forehead.

And so they ended up sitting on the sofa in the living room, nibbling on the food that Will had hastily prepared, each half lost in their own thoughts, when MacKenzie, still staring at Elliot's somber delivery of the latest details regarding the shootings, said, "there's really a lot about the baby coming that I don't remember. I think that I was unconscious when a lot of it happened."

Part of Will's brain screamed, "No! No! Not tonight! Please, God, not tonight." However, he was not about to stop MacKenzie if she needed to do this now. Then, as unexpected as had been her speaking, Mac turned her body, raised herself and straddled Will's lap, facing him, and burying her head against his shoulder. Her pencil skirt rode up her shapely thighs, which Will began to slowly stroke. 

"You know what this is going to do to me," he whispered, kissing her hair, and sliding his lower body forward slightly to accommodate the growing pressure in his groin.

"I'm counting on it." 

She kissed his lips. "I'm not trying to avoid telling you . . . You have a right to know . . . I didn't start running from you until I'd lost him . . . " she said, becoming agitated enough to concern Will. "I wanted you . . . I wanted you there . . . I called . . ." Mac looked horrified. That wasn't how she'd planned to give him that information. Exhaustion and stress has just taken over. 

"You called me?" He asked slowly. Of all the body blows that he had expected, somehow this one had eluded him. The knowledge that among all of the calls he had ignored was one she had made from that hotel room in Kabul slammed into his consciousness. Of course! Hummel had talked about her phone being found near her unconscious body. Why hadn't it occurred to him? He looked at her as his eyes filled with tears.

MacKenzie gave a slight nod. "Billy, please, I'm sorry I started . . . I can't do this now." She kissed him again, passionately. "I just need you to love me tonight."

Without saying anything more, Will moved her from his lap, stood, lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed. He laid her down and began slowly removing her clothes. She lay still, her eyes closed as he gently kissed each bit of newly exposed flesh, telling her over and over again that they would be fine, everything would be fine, that two people couldn't love as much as they did and not be happy. When he'd removed his own clothes and slid beside her under the sheet and comforter, he saw that she had begun to weep.

"You did so well today, Billy." She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Your poor face when you saw that the first little girl whose name you had to read was called Charlotte." MacKenzie took a ragged breath. "All those people, Will . . . All those people whose children died. How will they ever heal? How will they ever be okay again?"

"The same way we will, Kenz. By loving each other." He kissed her softly and pulled her close. "By loving their other children. By having more children."

"Oh, Billy," she murmured, "I want this baby so terribly. I want to see it in your arms. You're going to be such a good, loving father." She kissed him again, letting the passion that always seemed to lie just below the surface take hold. She trailed kisses down his neck and chest, stopping to tease his nipples with her tongue and teeth that way he did hers. She kissed her way down his torso until she found him with her lips, a steel rod encased in velvet soft skin. 

Then he rose up and rolled her under him, reaching down to find her folds, to find her warm and wet to his touch. Gently, oh so gently, he stroked her, feeling her relax under his touch, as sensation replaced sorrow and arousal drove away anguish. Finally, her arms came up to clutch at his shoulders, her nails digging in almost enough to hurt, as her body curled into his while the first orgasm claimed her. Then, her arms and head fell limply back on the mattress, as she looked into his eyes. "I want you now," she said. "Hard and deep and fast so I can't think of anything but you." 

 

He woke in the night. She had called him. She had called him and he didn't answer. She needed him and he wasn't there. He knew that he would not be able to sleep again. Checking her, he gently disentangled their limbs and got up. He found some sweats and a t-shirt of his that she had worn and left in the bathroom, and thinking that sometimes Mac's lack of neatness came in handy. He put them on and padded softly out to his computer in the dining room. Powering up, he typed in her name and then looked for the folder labelled, "June 2007." He opened the sub-folder, "Voice Messages" and scrolled down, surprised to find nothing for June 8th. She had said she had called. He was sure that he'd made no mistake about the date. He had Hummel's statement essentially committed to memory.

Then, he saw them. Seven audio files dated the day before. Of course, the time change. She had called him seven times. He found a pair of earphones, plugged them in and began to listen to Mac's voice messages in the order she had recorded them.

"Will, it's Mac. I'm in Kabul. I'd really really appreciate it if you would pick up or call me back. I have a sat phone but it will roll over from my regular cell number. Will, please, I know you are very angry. I'm sorry. Give me a chance to explain. I have things to tell you. Please call."

The next call was left over three hours later and in that one and the two that followed, Mac's voice sounded strained in a way that in the months and years to come, he would recognize instantly as her voice in the early stages of labor. The second message was also distinctly different in content. Gone was the attempt to sound like she had a casual conversation in mind. "Billy, I'm scared . . . I'm so scared," she began in a wavering tone. Will paused the audio and closed his eyes. It had begun. He wasn't prepared to hear this. He got up and poured himself a scotch and took a swallow. He desperately wanted a cigarette. Then he walked back, put on the earphones and began to listen again. "I'm so scared. I don't know what's happening. I need to talk to you. Billy, please. Please. Forgive me. It's not what you think. I haven't seen Brian in over a year. I love you." Then there was a six or seven second pause, and when she resumed speaking, MacKenzie's voice sounded tight and panicked. "Billy, help me . . . Help . . . ". 

Will cut off the audio and reached for the scotch. Then he pushed it away so violently that it almost slid off the opposite side of the table. No! He thought to himself, if she could survive this alone in stinking Kabul, he wasn't going to lean on alcohol to get him through. He resumed listening.

The tears came when he heard her voice on the subsequent message, now reedy and thin, apologizing for calling yet again and telling him that she just couldn't stop herself; saying she needed to hear his voice even if it was his answering message. He froze when he heard her gasping and grunting as a pain that he knew was a labor contraction caught her in mid-sentence. There were several messages in which her words were interrupted by labor pains. Then there was a gap of almost three hours to the last two messages. In the next to the last, Mac's voice sounded incredibly weak but calmer. Will had the volume at maximum and he still had to strain to make out her words. 

"I love you, Billy," she had said, "please don't let what I did to you ruin your life . . . rob you of happiness. I love you. Don't hate me forever . . . . Billy, I want you to be happy. I want to you to love someone . . . Have children with someone." She stopped and seemed to be struggling for the breath and strength to continue. A sob escaped from Will's constricted throat, and he removed the earphones and listened to be sure he hadn't awakened MacKenzie. When he heard nothing from the bedroom, he put them on again and clicked play. "You would have been such an amazing father, Billy." He heard Mac choke back a sob, and say in a voice so thick with tears that he could barely make out the words, "Don't let the hurt I caused rob you . . . Try to understand. . . . " Mac trailed off and the message ended.

Her voice was even weaker in the final message. She was dying, he realized. He was listening to the love of his life dying. "Forgive me . . . I'm so sorry . . . I love you, Billy . . . Please be happy," she repeated like a mantra until her words became slurred and then stopped. The message continued. Finally, the silence ended, an automated function when a message exceeded the maximum allotted time. She was unconscious by then he thought. Her dying thoughts were for him to be happy. He walked out onto the terrace, as far from the bedroom as he could get so as not to disturb the woman he now thought of, had always thought of, as his wife, and ignoring the cold, sat down and let his grief pour out. 

Finally, he allowed the cold to drive him inside, and that's when he heard her screaming. He flew to the bedroom and gathered her into his arms. Rocking her like a baby, and telling her he loved her and she was safe. The nightmare would end and he would be there with her.

 

The dream began with pain and stifling heat. Pain in her back, a steady ache, and pain in waves that ripped her apart. She wrapped her arms across the swell of her belly, her hands clutching at her sides. "Billy! Billy!" She heard herself call out. "Please help me. God, please help me." Then the dream shifted and there was blood everywhere, pouring out of her, mixing with the oppressive heat to give off a pungent coppery smell that filled her nostrils. She knew she was dead. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Billy, forgive me," she cried over and over. Then, another shift and the pain had lessened to a dull ache. She was holding the baby. Billy's baby. It moved in her hands and she heard its cries faint and feeble. Like her, it would not live, she knew. "He's too little to live. Forgive me." She cradled the baby against her breast. With the soft worn cotton of the shirt she wore, she wiped his face and for one second he opened his eyes and she looked into them - looked into the eyes of her child. Another shift in the dream and she had water in her hand, water spilling through her fingers - spilling onto his tiny face producing a stronger cry of protest. She heard her voice as if from a far distance, "William Duncan, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." Then she heard herself sobbing and felt her heart break.

She went from being incredibly hot to shivering uncontrollably. Again, she heard herself sobbing, felt herself rocking, being rocked. There were arms around her. They held her tightly. A hand stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm. She heard Billy's voice telling her over and over that she was safe; she was home. She struggled to leave the dream behind, but it came with her like an icy hand around her heart. She opened her eyes and looked into Will's. 

He tried to smile, but it's shape was frightened and sad. "That was a bad one," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"I dreamt about the baby . . . the first baby."

"I know," he said kissing her again. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. Yes. I . . . not now. I think I'd like to see Dr. Habib. With you, I mean. I need help knowing what's real. What's memory. I'm afraid some of what I thought were . . . I'm afraid it might be real." The tears started to flow again. "I think maybe he wasn't . . . . I feel so guilty. I made so many mistakes. I'm the reason he's dead. If I'd taken care of myself . . . . If I'd told Charlie . . . ."

"Stop, Mac. Stop saying that. I did this to you. Sometimes I wonder how you can stand to look at me. How you can stand to have me comfort you." The anguish in his voice overwhelmed her. She tightened her grip on him, afraid he would pull away, and afraid that if he did, it would end her life.

"Who else, Billy?" she asked. "Who else? There's no one else who can . . . No one else who ever could." And she shifted to find his mouth with hers, to show him how much she loved him, how much she needed him. And so he comforted her as only he could, taking her again where sensation replaced thought, and pleasure, incredible pleasure, took the place of pain. Afterward, as she slept again, he called Jacob Habib's answering service and asked for an emergency appointment for anytime that day.


	16. Conversation With Charlie

Despite Will's exerting every ounce of pressure he could muster, Dr. Habib couldn't see them until 3:20 that afternoon. It was possibly the worst time from the perspective of producing News Night, which was not surprisingly MacKenzie's perspective in the morning. However, Will stood firm. If they had to bring in Leona to sub for Mac, he was asking her to do this for him and not put it off. She was swayed by how completely exhausted he looked, and the fact that he had said he'd had trouble sleeping. She thought that everyone was going to notice that Will looked haggard, and were it not the day after Newtown, she was sure she would have gotten another good-natured tongue lashing from Cheryl in Hair and Make-up about how tough it was getting Will camera ready when she kept wearing him out at night. So, in the end, MacKenzie agreed to turn the reins over to Jim again, and go to the appointment. 

This made her day from arrival to after lunchtime busier than usual (if that were possible, she mused) which had the benefit of forcing her to stay in the moment and not withdraw into thoughts of what she was going to say to Will and Habib that afternoon. It also gave Will the opportunity to slip away for a talk he wanted to have with Charlie Skinner. 

 

"What can I do for you?" Charlie asked as Will entered his office. But before Will could answer, Charlie started talking about the coverage of the Sandy Hook School shooting. Apparently, the ratings were in and ACN had the most viewers of any cable news station. "But, you look like you've been through the ringer, Will. And how's Mac? Seems like she was having a rough time of it yesterday."

"Actually, Mac's who I came here to talk about," Will said lowering himself into one of Charlie's visitors' chairs. Charlie wasn't sure whether Will's apparent disinterest in the ratings or the number of viewers his marathon coverage of yesterday's tragedy had drawn was a testament to Will's evolution as a serious newscaster or a measure of his concern over whatever he wanted to say about MacKenzie. 

"Okay."

"First, I need to say that if she ever finds out we had this conversation, I'd like you to deliver the eulogy at my funeral."

"Okay." At least, he can still make a joke, Charlie thought. 

"Sometime in the not too distant future, Rebecca's going to prevail upon Mac to bring you into the loop about the basis for Dantana's allegations that she attempted suicide in Afghanistan. It's going to upset you, and Mac's too fragile right now to take the brunt of your reaction. So if you agree, I'm going to tell you some things first so that you can be prepared for when she talks to you."

"Let me get this straight, you think that I'm going to get angry and somehow harm MacKenzie if she tells me that she tried to kill herself in Kabul?"

Will winced. "No. Not exactly."

"Well, good. Because that's one of the most insulting things I've ever heard you say."

"Charlie, look. Mac thinks that you are going to get angry with her and she's scared. I think that you are going get upset and it's going to look like anger to her. And really, it almost doesn't matter what it looks like because she is so guilty about the whole thing that she'll beat herself up no matter what you do."

"Boy, you have really lost me."

"Let me just do this, please. I feel guilty enough going behind her back, and I wouldn't even think of doing it if I didn't feel that it was critical to her well-being." Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but the anguish in Will's voice caused his to close it again without saying anything. He just nodded at Will.

Will took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before beginning. "When Mac came to you six years ago and asked you to help her get away from New York, she was pregnant."

Charlie's mouth gaped open and he just stared at Will, slack-jawed for a very long time. Finally, he blinked his eyes as if to clear his thoughts or facilitate his brain processing what Will had just said. "Mac was pregnant? MacKenzie was pregnant when I got her the job in Afghanistan? That's what you are telling me?" Charlie started out quietly, but his voice and agitation levels increased with each question.

"Yes," was all Will said.

Charlie studied the younger man for a long moment, then spoke with admirable control, "this was Brenner's baby. That's why you rejected her. That's why you couldn't forgive her. She got pregnant cheating on you." They were all more statements than questions.

Sweet Jesus, was all Will could think. This was a turn he had never anticipated.

"No," Will said as calmly as he could. "She hadn't seen Brenner for more than a year . . . ."

"What!" Charlie interrupted. "How could she cheat with someone she hadn't seen? I don't understand."

"She told me about the cheating right before we broke up, but it happened a little over a year before. She'd been faithful ever since," Will concluded miserably.

"Then it was your baby!" Charlie was out of his chair and moving toward Will as he spoke. "You threw her out of your life pregnant with your child because she had cheated on you over a year before with her ex-lover!" Charlie roared. Will rose instinctively. He thought that Charlie was going to hit him and steeled himself to accept the blow. Let him be angry at me, Will thought. In fact, he welcomed Charlie's anger as he would have welcomed a punch. He deserved it. But, the blow never came. Instead, Charlie grabbed both of Will's shoulders in an iron fisted grip, and shook him once before lowering his own head with a groan.

"Yes, it was my baby." Will said with such anguish that it defused the worst of Charlie's rage. 

"What the fuck happened?" He looked into Will's eyes for a long moment, and then said more softly, "you didn't know. She didn't tell you." Will nodded, unable to speak. "What the fuck happened?" Charlie repeated. When Will still couldn't respond, Charlie lowered him back into his chair, took the one beside him and simply waited.

Finally, after a minute spent composing himself, Will started to speak. "She got pregnant by accident switching birth control methods. She didn't say anything right away. In hindsight, I think there were clues, but I wasn't looking. Anyway, she says she was happy about it. I'd been hinting about getting married and that's what she wanted to do. Get married and have the baby." Will took a deep breath. "but being Mac, my beautiful, ethical, moral MacKenzie, she decided that she needed to come clean about her slipping back into things with Brian so I'd know before we went on with our lives together." 

Charlie murmured, "oh, God."

Will looked over at the sorrow etched on the older man's face, and continued, "she's told me now that what happened with Brian wasn't meant to hurt me. That after we'd been dating for less than a year, but before she was in love with me, or realized that she was, Brian started calling her and telling her that he wanted her back. She'd been so rejected by him, and he was telling her that he'd been a fool (Will snorted) that he still loved her, that she was the most important thing in his life - you know. So she saw him sporadically over the next four months and had sex with him three or four times. Then, she says she woke up one morning and called Brian, told him she was in love with me and that she never wanted to see him again. The next time she spoke to him was when I . . . ." He trailed off as Charlie nodded.

"She didn't tell you all of that . . .before . . . "

"I don't know," Will said in a voice laced with despair. "To be honest, I don't have a clear memory of it. I know it was morning. But, I can't remember a lot of it. I remember thinking that I had been a fool to believe that someone would love me . . . that she was just like my . . . . I don't know what she told me. I don't think I gave her much of a chance to explain. I remember Kenz crying. I know I told her I wanted her completely out of my life, and I left the apartment saying I wanted all traces of her gone when I got back. Oh, God," Will looked at his trembling hands. "She was on the floor by then . . . She's reminded me of that," a pitiful attempt at a smile played around Wills lips. "I remember a bit of that part, she was clinging to my leg, sobbing," Will's voice broke, "begging me not to go, not to leave her. I just shook her off and closed the door."

Charlie wiped tears from his own eyes, and marveled that in all the years, he and Will had never talked about the day Will learned about Brian and banished MacKenzie from his life. 

"I was insane, Charlie. I mean that sincerely. It was like something she said or the way she said it tripped something in my brain and I wasn't even there with her anymore. I was somewhere else, fighting . . . God, that sounds like a fucking cop out . . . I didn't hurt . . . almost kill . . . Mac, my evil twin did it, or the devil took possession of my body and made me do it. Sometimes, Charlie, I hate myself so much. I left her - left them - I left the person I love most in this life begging me to stop and listen. Just listen," Will ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, "just listen . . . That's all she ever asked." He lowered his head into his hands and abandoned the fight for composure. 

Charlie walked to the door and stepped out. Putting on his best face, he told his assistant to hold all calls and send away any visitors until further notice. Back in his office he sat and moving his chair closer to Will's, put an arm around his boy's shoulder and leaned in. Charlie was privy to more of the details of Will's childhood than anyone other than Mac, and he suspected that the ghost of John McAvoy lurked somewhere in the events six years before. 

"Mac's going to hate it that you ever feel like you hate yourself. You don't want to piss her off do you?" Will looked up and gave him a wan smile. Charlie continued, "I know that you've told me that after the breakup, she sent emails and left voice messages. I assume she never left a message that told you about the baby."

Will shook his head, but thought about the messages from Kabul. What would he have made of them if he hadn't had Hummel's statement already in mind. "Why did Mac come back to News Night?" he asked suddenly.

Charlie thought about sticking to the story that he'd concocted for Will three years before. It was admittedly mostly the truth, or rather the events related were true - Mac did need to get out of the Middle East and CNN was pretty heavy on producers at the time - except that story left out the the basic fact that would have made it truth. And so Charlie gave Will that fact, "she didn't come back to News Night, she came back to you."

"Why?" The word was spoken so softly that Charlie wasn't sure whether he had heard or imagined it.

"I called her and told her that you needed her . . . that you were miserable and lost without her, and I feared that you were passing a point where the bitterness with which you saw life would be irreversible. I told her that I feared that if that happened, your career would go and you would drink yourself to death." Charlie sighed deeply, but Will just held him in a piercing focus. "She said that she didn't think you would ever forgive her, but she knew that she would never fully heal if she didn't try again to make you see that she loved you and had never wanted to hurt you. She also said that there were things she needed to tell you, that she needed to see you face-to-face to tell you."

"That our son had been stillborn at twenty-three weeks of gestation at the Intercontinental Hotel in Kabul on June 8th, 2007," Will said like he was reporting the events in Newtown the day before.

"June 8th! She was supposed to be with her parents in June, not in Kabul." Will watched as the wheels in Charlie's brain turned and the head of steam that would shortly explode built up - a process that had engendered the joke, "Wait for it" in the newsroom. This time, however, there was a note of deep and heartfelt sorrow in Charlie's voice as he spoke. "Why in the name of Jesus fucking Christ, did she ask to go away instead of just telling meee?" he bellowed, pulling out the final vowel into a note of anguish and slamming both hands down on his desk hard enough to make Will jump.

"This is what you can't do to MacKenzie, Charlie. Mac blames herself for the baby's premature birth. She feels guilty that she didn't take care of herself. She thinks that if she had told you, things would have been different, and he, the baby, would be alive. She's having terrible nightmares about it. In fact we're going to see Dr. Habib this afternoon so she can talk about it. Jim's going to do most of the EP prep for tonight. I mean, if Mac's willing to miss the afternoon rundowns . . . you can imagine how strongly she believes that she fucked things up, that our child would be alive if she had only taken care of herself or told you she was pregnant when I . . . ."

"Don't you?" Charlie shot back. "My God, Will, she sat there in that fucking chair," Charlie gestured violently, "what, eighteen, nineteen weeks pregnant looking like an inmate in a fucking concentration camp. She knows what she did. I can't bullshit Mac."

"No, but you can try not to scream at her."

"Yes. Although if I'm too calm, she'll know something's up. Mac's not going to shy away from her responsibility in this, no matter what you do."

"Her responsibility! I'm the one who left her lying on my fucking floor. I'm the one who wouldn't talk or listen to her when she begged me over and over during the two months before she came in here looking like the walking dead."

"Did you hear me say that it wasn't your responsibility? Cause I sure as fuck didn't." Charlie took a long calming breath. "So, tell me what does all this have to do with the esteemed Mr. Dantana?" 

"Mac will tell you more, and I'm going to leave it for her, but the bottom line is that she basically bled out after the baby came and was found by a maid at the hotel near death. She never called for help. So from that, Dantana's lawyers have constructed a suicide attempt."

Although the color drained from Charlie's face, he decided not to pursue the subject of the baby's birth. Instead, he asked, "And how come Dantana knows about this? The odds against it seem astronomical."

"Seems like Reese put out the word in the DC Bureau that he would welcome any dirt on Mac that would help him drive her away. As luck would have it, this guy named Robert Hummel, who was managing the Intercontinental in Kabul in June 2007, is now at some hotel in DC and has acted as a source for Jerry. I don't know for sure but I assume that Dantana gave Mac's name out to all his sources and got a hit. 

"What the fuck!"

"My sentiments exactly."

"How did you learn all this? Does Mac know?

"No, I haven't told her yet." Will ignored Charlie's dubious expression. "I got a copy of the statement that Hummel gave to Dantana and a few other things from Nina Howard."

"Nina! You've completely lost me. How did Nina get it? Did you know she knew? When the hell did you see Nina? And you haven't told Mac? Are you out of your fucking mind?" Charlie almost came out of his chair. 

"I was trying to do something nice for Mac." Charlie looked unconvinced that Will's talking to Nina could possibly be characterized as nice for MacKenzie. "There was this doctor who saved her life in Kabul, and she was afraid that he had been Dantana's source. I was trying to rule that out. You see, over a year ago, almost two, Nina told me that she had information to do a take down piece on Mac. It was going to say that Mac was unstable and had been suicidal when she was in the Middle East. Nina had asked me what I knew about rumors that Mac had led her crew into the ambush in Islamabad on purpose." Charlie snorted derisively. Will continued, "I got to thinking about the similarities between what Nina had said and the shit in Dantana's complaint, and when Mac was doing that prep session with Rebecca a few weeks ago, I called Nina and asked her if she'd give me what she had on Mac."

"And she had this guy's statement about the maid finding Mac. How did she get it? Does she even know Dantana?" Charlie still looked like he was having difficulty following Will.

"I don't know the answer to your last question but I do know that she didn't get it from him. Dantana gave it to Reese. Nina got it from Reese who . . . ."

"Reese!"

"Yes, Reese. So she could do the take down piece that would drive Mac away and I'd go back to being the Jay Leno of cable news."

"Jesus," Charlie mumbled under has breath. "But she never did it. Is that because you bribed her?"

"No, actually, I couldn't go through with the bribe, so I threatened her instead. Told her I'd dedicate my life to destroying hers if she ever went after my staff. But she says, and I believe her, that it wasn't my threats, that she didn't publish it because she wouldn't, couldn't do that to MacKenzie. So, now I get to tell Mac that the good news is that Danny, that's the gynecologist who put her back together, wasn't Dantana's source, but the bad news is that Reese and Nina both know about the baby. 

"I don't envy you, my boy."

"Yeah, thanks."

Charlie thought that Will looked better than he had when he came in. "Will, I think you'd better get back downstairs before Mac comes up here looking for you." They both stood. Charlie grabbed Will into an embrace. "You kids are strong," he said. "You'll get through this." Then he pulled back and looked at Will solemnly. "You said that MacKenzie wanted the baby. Does she still . . . I mean can she . . . after . . . Can she . . . ."

"Have children?" Will finished for him. Charlie nodded gravely. His eyes looked so sad and pained that Will almost broke his word to MacKenzie and told Charlie that she was pregnant. Instead, Will just said, "Yes, we believe so. We've talked to Mac's doctor and she's very confident that Mac can carry a child to term."

Charlie hugged him again and clapped him on the back. "That's so good to hear. So good."


	17. William Duncan

Jacob Habib smiled and extended his hand to MacKenzie McHale, "Ms. McHale. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. And please call me MacKenzie or Mac."

Although he had googled her on several occasions, read her Wikipedia page and official ACN bio and seen numerous pictures of her on the internet, the effect of the woman in person was striking. The chocolate colored eyes with their tiny flecks of hazel, the creamy skin with the slight dusting of freckles and the full and sensual lips, the lower of which was caught between her front teeth in a gesture of vulnerability, added up to one incredibly beautiful and attractive woman. The knowledge that she had the intellect to have been elected President of the Cambridge Union, produce the most cerebral news show on television and go toe to toe with Will McAvoy, no slouch in the brains department, made Jake wish she had an identical twin sister who liked younger men.

Will had clued him in as to the need for the session only to the degree of saying that MacKenzie was having a problem and had asked to see him with Will. So, after introducing himself, he said, "how are you feeling, MacKenzie?

"Well, it's still early so I'm exhausted by three everyday which of course is precisely when I really need to be gearing up for the broadcast," she smiled at Habib, "and I'm still sick more mornings than not, but Will has been wonderful . . . ." She turned in Will's direction and made Habib wish that someday someone would look at him that way. It must have been that thought that put the slightly quizzical expression on the doctor's face that caused Mac to look closely at him and then at Will, and say, "you haven't told him."

"No, you asked me not to tell anyone."

"But you knew that I meant Charlie and Sloan and Jim and the rest of the gang at ACN." Mac chuckled softly.

"Just trying to get good at following orders," Will replied, kissing her temple and smiling broadly at her, relieved that Mac seemed more relaxed now that they were at Habib's office than she had been during the drive from the studio. 

"I take it that you are pregnant, MacKenzie," Habib said, smiling broadly, "and that you two are not here to discuss whether to keep the baby." He had meant it as a joke since they were so obviously thrilled to be becoming parents. In hindsight, he kicked himself for days for not remembering that despite their demeanor at that moment, this was not a social call, and something was wrong enough that Will had asked for an emergency appointment.

Mac froze like she had been kicked in the gut. Will stared at her, took a step closer until his whole body touched hers, and then glared at Habib. 

"I'm sorry," the young doctor said instantly. "What's the matter, MacKenzie?" he asked compassionately. "I only intended that as an observation that you both seem very happy about the pregnancy."

Mac recovered enough to give him a half-hearted but reassuring smile. "We are. We both want this; you're right."

"Let's sit down," Jake said ushering Will and Mac to the sofa in his office. When they were both seated and MacKenzie had reached reflexively for Will's hand, he continued, "why don't you tell me why you are here."

Mac took a deep breath, and began, "I was pregnant once before. About six years ago." It seemed obvious from her tone and Will's body language when she spoke that he had been responsible for that pregnancy as well. Habib's eyebrows rose as he put it into the context of what he knew of their lives. "When Will and I broke up," MacKenzie added, as if answering his unspoken question. 

"You never mentioned that to my father or me in all these years?" the question, directed at Will, shot out of his mouth before his brain could stop it. I'm doing a hell of a job maintaining professional detachment this afternoon the young doctor thought ruefully.

"He didn't know until a few weeks ago," Mac answered for Will.

"Okay," Habib said feeling a little better that Will had not gone through years of therapy concealing that fact. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

So, Mac told the story of her reconnecting with Brian while dating Will, then over a year later, discovering that she was pregnant, feeling that she needed to tell Will about what had happened with Brian before she told him about the baby and that she wanted to marry him, putting it off until she couldn't wait any longer and then "blowing it all" by telling him about Brian first. Will noted that Jake's eyebrows went up twice during this part of her monologue, once when he realized that the cheating that had wreaked so much havoc in their lives had occurred relatively early in their relationship, and the other time when Mac assumed responsibility for Will's reaction.

Mac continued, saying that after she resigned as EP of News Night, she had not taken good care of herself, not acted responsibly toward the baby, and that he had been born prematurely and not survived. Although tears shimmered in her eyes, she got through it all without letting any of them fall. 

When she concluded, they all sat in silence for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Habib asked, "Will didn't respond to your telling him about Brian in the way you had expected, did he?"

Will saw Mac's composure crumbling. "God! That is an understatement." Her shoulders hunched forward and her arms crossed in front of her body. Holding in the pain, Jake thought. "I thought he knew I loved him," she whispered so softly she seemed to be talking to herself. "But he didn't."

"One minute life seemed normal and the next it had blown up in your face. Is that right, MacKenzie?"

She nodded, folding over further into herself.

"When something like that happens, people go into shock. I don't think you were capable of taking care of yourself without help. Your sin, if you will, was not asking for that help."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there was no way that you could have prevented or predicted Will's reaction to your disclosure about your reconciliation with your ex-lover because his reaction wasn't rational; it was completely out of proportion to the threat that your news posed to him or to the relationship. He was reacting to more than what you were saying. Let me put it another way, Mac, you stepped on a land mine that had been planted years before you were born and buried under tons of empty broken liquor bottles. When you stumbled across it and it blew, you and Will both were cut to ribbons and your baby died."

Mac's shoulders began to shake, as the tears poured forth, her sobs muffled somewhat by her head being almost in her lap. Will leaned towards her, wrapping his arms around her and resting the side of his head against her back. When the sound of her weeping became softer, Habib spoke again.

"MacKenzie, who did you tell that you were pregnant?"

"My doctor knew."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Why did you keep it to yourself?"

MacKenzie straightened up, and took the tissue box Habib offered. She thought for a long time before answering. "I was being selfish in a way. I wanted Will to see me and talk to me for me . . . because he loved me, not because he felt responsible for a baby. I didn't want to be tied to him by his duty to a baby when he didn't want me or love me anymore."

"And you were protecting me . . . Keeping people from getting angry at the way I'd treated you," Will broke in, speaking for the first time.

"Later, yes, and with some people, but mostly I think I wanted you to understand about Brian because you loved me."

"You understand that those two things - his love for you and understanding that your behavior with Brian wasn't a threat to him - weren't tied together for Will?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. I do now. But I don't see what this has to do with what I did. None of it changes the fact that I knew that not eating or sleeping was bad for our unborn child. I wasn't sixteen. I was thirty-two. I had to know I was being destructive."

"Did you drink or do drugs?"

Mac looked at Dr. Habib in horror. "Of course not!" Habib smiled slightly.

"MacKenzie, in your situation, being overcome by grief was understandable. But, I can't take away your guilt in one session. And I agree that you were an adult and especially now that you are pregnant again, nothing is going to make you feel that your actions did not cause the baby to come early because they most probably did. But, isn't there some comfort in that for you in this pregnancy."

Both Will and Mac gaped at him for a moment. Then, although Will still seemed lost, Mac nodded. "Yes," she said, "I see what you mean. Like it's not something the matter with me inside." Jake nodded.

"MacKenzie, both you and Will need to accept that there's a huge difference between guilt and accepting responsibility. One is debilitating and the other can be liberating." Mac nodded again.

"I need to talk about the day he was born." Mac said, with a calm that surprised Will. "I need to try to remember what happened. I have nightmares and I'm not sure whether they are fantasy, horrible products of my imagination, or memories trying to get through."

"Why don't we start with what you can remember."

Mac started to recount her arrival in Kabul, when Dr. Habib interrupted, to clarify that she had actually gone to Afghanistan twenty-three weeks pregnant. "What is it with men?" Mac had asked. "I was pregnant not incapacitated." But then, she suddenly looked stricken, and put her head in her hands, breathing hard.

"MacKenzie, what is it?" Habib asked urgently as Will bent over her as if to shield her from the pain that was obviously consuming her. 

"I got a flash . . . from one of . . . the nightmares . . . but it felt like a memory . . . . " she gasped out.

"Take some long slow even breaths and don't try to talk for a minute," Habib commanded gently. 

She did as he suggested. Then, she spoke slowly, "I remember being in labor. My back aching and then the contractions. I . . . remember . . . liquid . . . amniotic fluid . . . and blood . . . " Mac's breathing started to get ragged again. "The pain . . . I stuffed a pillow into my mouth so people, the other guests, couldn't hear me scream," she said, and this memory seemed to bring her back from the edge. "I chewed right through the cover. It was down and I got a mouthful of feathers." She chuckled slightly. Dr. Habib forced a smile. Will just closed his eyes. 

"I remember the contractions getting bad . . . until I couldn't stand it anymore . . . I started to push . . . There was so much blood by then. And then I think I blacked out . . . But I think I came to . . . And . . . Oh, God! . . . Billy! . . . . I . . . can't . . . breathe . . . ." Mac curled forward and fell to the floor. Will went with her and gathered her into his arms as her eyes rolled back into her head and she lost consciousness. In a split second, Habib was on the floor beside them, feeling the pulse in Mac's neck and reassuring Will that her breathing would slow automatically and she would recover in a minute or two. 

When she opened her eyes, Jake Habib began speaking, "Everything that you have, MacKenzie, is real. Will's here with you. He's holding you. You have his ring on your finger and his baby inside you. You have News Night together. It's all real and it all happened after the first baby died. Remembering what happened in Kabul can't threaten your reality. It's all part of the same truth. There are no more land mines. No more IED's. You stepped on the big one and it's caused Will to dig up all the rest."

"Billy, I'm scared. I'm so scared."

Those words! He had heard them on the voice messages over and over as he replayed them on his computer and in his mind. "I'm here, Kenz. I'm here. Don't be scared. Kenzie, sweetheart. Don't be afraid to remember. Tell me what you remember." Will looked at Habib for guidance and he gestured for Will to continue. So, he did, gently rubbing Mac's back and telling her that there was nothing to fear. They were strong. There was nothing they couldn't face.

MacKenzie turned her face into Will's chest. "I think," she said so softly only he could hear, "I remember him moving, Billy." Then, she made a sound that was part sob, part keening cry, and began to sway and would have fallen had she not been in Will's arms. "In my hands . . . moving . . . alive." With that, her tears began to flow freely as the barriers that she had built around the unthinkable in her mind began to fall. 

Now it was Will's turn to be unable to breathe. He had never expected this. He had thought that it couldn't get worse but it just had. The idea that Mac had been alone, delivered their living child by herself and then watched him die threatened to destroy him. Habib's hand came to Will's shoulder to steady him. "What do you remember, MacKenzie?" Habib asked slowly and softly, looking directly into Will's despairing eyes.

"I wiped his face . . . His eyes were open . . . Crying . . . He cried . . . . I was dead . . . I thought . . . We both were . . . but he cried. He was so strong, Billy! If I'd been here or even in Surrey maybe he'd have . . . Oh, God! I'm so sorry, Billy . . . Please forgive me . . . "

Will found his voice. Pulling Mac onto his lap, he told her that there was nothing to forgive. It had just happened, that was all. They would heal. Everything would be alright.

MacKenzie looked up into Will's face and said, "it wasn't a dream . . . I know that now . . . I remember . . . I named him for you."

"What?"

"His name. I had water. I named him before he died . . . William Duncan."

This time the sound came from Will. An animal in agony, Habib thought. Will clutched MacKenzie to him and buried his head against her, as his body began to shake. She ran her hands up his back and held him close. Her own sobs muffled slightly against his chest. 

Jacob Habib considered trying to get up and leave the room, but decided that the movement would be more intrusive of their privacy than was his presence. So, he simply sat back and closed his eyes while William Duncan McAvoy Junior's parents mourned him.


	18. Appointments

MacKenzie saw Dr. Habib almost every day for the next nine days, sometimes alone and sometimes with Will. In deference to her work schedule, they moved the appointments to early morning. She seemed to be healing well, and Habib marveled at her resilience and capacity for honesty. She never wavered in her conviction that she could have taken better care of herself despite Will's rejection.

Because it was early morning, a number of Mac's sessions with Dr. Habib were interrupted by bouts of morning sickness. After one particularly lengthy period of retching, a pale and shaking MacKenzie returned to her chair in Habib's office, took a sip from her water bottle and observed, "that is a lot more fun with Will around."

"That must be the very definition of true love," Habib had observed wryly, "if it can make vomiting fun." Jake Habib felt an unexpected twinge of grief when Mac then pulled out of her purse, a plastic container of Finnish bread and rice crackers with peanut butter (which, for some reason, the pregnancy gods had decided she could tolerate), and looking up at him with a shrug and a lovely smile, said simply, "Will."

"How are you and Will doing?" he asked.

"We cry a lot. But I don't think that's a bad thing. I think William deserves to have his parents cry for him. We forgive each other a lot too. It's made us closer than we were before, and actually, I didn't think that was possible." She smiled a sad smile to herself. William. William's parents. She thought about how her baby, their baby, had become a person in their lives and not just a constant dull ache under her heart. Now, when the nightmares came, she woke in William's father's arms. 

 

"How can I feel like this?" Will asked tearfully later that same day at his regular session. "How can I miss someone so much whom I never even knew? Never even knew existed?"

"You had a son, Will, someone to teach to throw a baseball and take to Jets' games and eat hot dogs with. Mourning is about more than remembering the past. Much of it, more maybe, is about missing a future that isn't going to be."

"Yes. I do think about those things. I think about buying a house uptown and taking him to the park. I've been hesitant to mention having any of these thoughts to Mac. I seems a little crazy to imagine stuff like that."

"Not at all. She dreams about him as he would be now; you know that. And, as far as the grief you are feeling is concerned, part of its intensity is empathy for MacKenzie. She did know William, and his birth and death were a tragic loss and catastrophic trauma for her."

"Yes. How is she? I know she puts on a brave front for me."

"Her symptoms are consistent with a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder . . . . ". Habib stopped and looked at the expression of horror on Will's face. "First, she's the victim of a psychological IED that simultaneously destroyed her personal and professional lives. Everything she relied on and defined herself by, except her parents, was taken from her in one instant in the middle of breakfast, and she internalized it as completely her fault." This statement, Habib noted, did nothing to lessen Will's distress. "Then she endured a trauma that would be psychosis inducing in a less stable mind. Shortly after that, she took herself to another war zone where people she cared about were blown to bits by real IEDs - talking to her one moment, gone the next. Just like you were. For three years, she atoned for killing William and hurting you by living on the edge of annihilation in a state of almost continuous terror. She did do excellent journalism in which she has justified pride and she bonded with Jim Harper, which are the principal reasons you got her back in one piece, I suspect."

Will took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Habib saw tears leak from the corners. "You don't," Will began slowly, groping for the right words, "need to make that official in any way, do you? A diagnosis of PTSD, I mean. You see Dantana's . . . "

"You didn't let me get to the stabbing in Islamabad," Habib interrupted. "I've read Dantana's complaint. Downloaded it from the court website. And, no, I have no intention of telling Mac or anyone else that she has PTSD. I promise you, I won't do anything to undermine her fight for normalcy or her ability to get through this Dantana business with a minimum of pain. I'm just telling you that the nightmares and waking flashbacks may never go away completely. My God, Will, after everything she's been through, she's a miracle. She's amazing," Jake sighed, sounding for all the world like Jim Harper. God! Another member of the club. This brought the barest of smiles to Will's lips, as the younger man continued, "She is so strong and mature and unbelievably centered despite it all. And she's so much in love with you, and just so . . . I don't know . . . yours, I guess. You are one lucky fuck, McAvoy."

"I am. Don't think for a minute that I don't know it."

"You know, grief is just a strange emotion," Habib continued. "When MacKenzie pulled out that snack you'd packed for her this morning after being sick," Habib paused while Will grinned sheepishly, "all I could think of at that moment was how much I missed my father." Jake shook his head slowly. "Abe would have loved seeing you with MacKenzie like this. It's all over his notes. He so wanted you to recover enough to realize that needing her was not to be fought, but embraced, even if a relationship was not to be. But a baby and marriage, he'd have loved every minute of it."

So, Jake wiped a tear from his eye while Will blew his nose and they shared a moment of silence for Abe Habib.

 

Getting ready for bed that night, Will told her about his conversation with Nina. Mac didn't give a shit that Will had seen Nina, but she had been pissed to learn that Nina had lied to her about the content of the voice message Will had left the night of the bin Laden broadcast. When Will suggested that she ask Nina why she'd lied, Mac rolled her eyes and snorted, "I know why - because she'd just finished fucking my husband." Yes, Will thought. The relationship with Nina always felt like he was cheating on his marriage to Mac. 

"In fairness to Nina, I did tell her that I hadn't meant what I said in the message, and I wasn't still in love with you."

"Well, she was the only person even remotely connected to ACN to whom you could have said that and have them believe you. That's where I got into trouble with Wade, by bringing him by the newsroom and letting him see us together. It didn't take him long to figure out that he was dating a woman who was hopelessly in love with someone else and realize that he was being used. I must say that he got his revenge in spectacular fashion."

"Why did you bring him to the New Year's Eve Party and have him talk to me about financial crime?"

"To let you see that someone else wanted me. For you to realize that he was intelligent and attractive and everything that I'd want . . . if I could have stopped loving you."

Will walked over and kissed her.

"I was also trying to accept that all you wanted was a professional relationship," MacKenzie continued, wrapping her arms around Will. "I was trying to see if I could have a fulfilling life that way. I wanted to be able to move on and care about someone else, and have a physical relationship with someone else so I could stop wanting to touch you every time I saw you. Actually, I think that you were trying to do much the same thing with Nina. I just don't understand why. I couldn't have you no matter what I did. It didn't matter how much I loved you. But, you must have seen by the time you were in the hospital that I was yours for the asking." There was anguish in Mac's voice by the time she finished that she couldn't disguise. 

"I wanted to prove that I could live without you . . . that I wasn't my mother." When MacKenzie looked quizzically at him, Will shrugged and continued, "I wanted you so much . . . More than that, I needed you so desperately that you could . . . can . . . reduce me to begging. It scared me. I'd seen my mother beg. I wouldn't . . . couldn't . . . let myself be that desperate for anyone's love. And, I'd convinced myself that you didn't really love me . . . no one could . . . and your going back to Brian was proof of that. In a way, I made you into my father."

"There must be a special place in hell for people who physically and verbally abuse their children!" Mac said with a vehemence that surprised Will. "I'm sorry," she said, looking at his expression. "I know he was your father, and that he's dead and that changes things, but I just can't honor him, Will, or pretend that I do. What he did to you almost fucking killed me and it did kill William . . . I mean I did plenty too, but . . . . That's what Habib was saying with the land mine analogy. If your father hadn't twisted you up inside . . . . " Mac trailed off, running out of steam and sitting down on the edge of their bed, feeling exhausted. Will just continued to look at her, thinking about what she was saying without speaking. After a minute, MacKenzie took a deep breath, grabbed Will's hand and smiled up at him, letting everything she felt for him show in her eyes, "Come on, Billy, take me to bed. I want to hear you beg."

 

It wasn't until two days later that she read Robert Hummel's statement on Will's laptop curled up with him in bed. Dr. Habib asked her the next morning how she felt about the fact that Jerry Dantana and Nina Howard and possibly Reese Lansing had also read about the circumstances of her being found the morning of William's birth. "Raped," was her immediate answer. "Actually, I feel more invaded by the idea that Jerry and Reese know than Nina. She, at least, never tried to use it against me, and I think that basically she's a good person. But the good news is that I'm also very relieved that Dantana's source wasn't Danny." 

"Who's Danny?" Habib asked. So, she told Jake Habib about her time in the military hospital in Kabul, and how Danny had stopped his colleague and superior officer from performing a hysterectomy (Habib had closed his eyes for a moment as his brain recoiled from imagining how much worse this would be if it had also cost Will and MacKenzie the capacity to have more children together). Actually, he was fascinated by the apparent ease with which Mac could recount her time in the military hospital in Kabul, where Danny seemed to have functioned as both medical doctor and psychiatrist. Habib suspected that there was a lot still being suppressed.

Finally, towards the end of the session, he asked, "did you go back to the Intercontinental after you were discharged from the hospital?"

"For one night. In a different room." Mac smiled ruefully. "They charged me a fortune for the damage I had done to the other room. Apparently blood is very difficult to get out of fabric and carpet."

"Why only one night?"

"I sort of freaked out." 

Habib nodded, more surprised that Mac had returned to the hotel than that she'd been unable to stay.

"Danny had given me his number and I called at about three in the morning and he came and got me. Packed for me, checked me out and took me to his apartment. I was in pretty bad shape."

Habib assumed that this was an understatement of gargantuan proportions. "Describe freaking out," he said. 

"Well, the nightmares started that night. And when I woke, I had my first anxiety attack, I guess. My heart pounded, my breathing got rapid and shallow and I felt like I was going to pass out when I called Danny. I did lose consciousness once when he was with me. "

"Did you remember much about the birth at that point?"

"No, I think I'd already started to suppress it. Or I'd genuinely forgotten it at that point. I'd been unconscious for a while in the hotel room and under anesthesia and then pretty well drugged up for a couple of days. I know that Danny assumed that William had been stillborn and I accepted that. The nightmares were less specific then, more just pain and blood and guilt, I think. Only the parts at Will's apartment were detailed and realistic. At least, that's how I remember it. We are talking almost six years ago."

When they were about to break, Habib asked softly, "What happened to the baby's body?" 

Mac looked stricken and her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed several times before answering, and then, asked tearfully, "could we let that one go 'till we have more time? I need to be able to leave here soon and go to ACN." 

"Sure. I take it Will hasn't asked."

"Not yet, no."

It would actually be a while before they would return to the subject, since with the arrival of Lady Margaret McHale the following morning, wedding planning took center stage. 

 

Mac put her mother up at her apartment. Lady McHale seemed to accept the fact that she would have the flat to herself and that her daughter would continue to spend most nights at Will's apartment where the couple planned to live after the wedding. Although Margaret and Leona were still running around doing most of the leg work, the last few weeks of preparation increasingly involved MacKenzie and Sloan, who was the Maid of Honor, and along with Mac's niece, Tessa, her only attendants. Maggie's roommate, Lisa, had gotten the women access to several of the New York outlets for European couture and Mac had found a Stella McCartney design that she loved and would work as a wedding gown with only a modicum of alteration, and complimentary dresses for both Sloan and Tessa. 

Flowers were chosen and a church was picked for the ceremony - St. Thomas' Episcopal Church, whose rector, Leona announced, was an "ex-pat Brit." Leona had made an appointment for Mac to meet with him on the afternoon of December 20, at 4:30. And so, following the last rundown meeting, MacKenzie left the implementation (once again) to Jim, with Don's assistance, grabbed Sloan, and headed downstairs for a cab. When they got to the rectory office, they found that the rector was a boyish looking man in his mid-forties. In a public school accent, he introduced himself as Father Helmsworth, gave each of the women a perfunctory handshake and asked which one was Ms. Morgan.

"Actually, it's McHale. MacKenzie McHale. This is my Maid of Honor, Ms. Sabbith. Morgan is my middle name, but we are planning a bit of a stealth wedding for a variety of reasons.

Father Richard Helmsworth studied Mac up and down with intense blue eyes, gesturing Mac and Sloan toward his visitors' chairs. "McHale. MacKenzie McHale. Yes, of course. The Ambassador's daughter." Mac nodded acknowledgment of her father, and Helmsworth continued, "My goodness! Little Lady Mackie's all grown up, and you've done a brilliantly smashing job of it too." 

His look was nothing short of lascivious, which caused Sloan to remark that she thought he was a priest. "Church of England," he replied, "we're allowed to appreciate a beautiful woman . . . ."

"Excuse me," Mac interrupted in an imperious tone that Sloan had never heard her use before. "Have we been introduced?"

Father Helmsworth chuckled. "You don't remember me. I was at Eton with Viscount Trowbridge. I came to New York for a school holiday and stayed with your family when you were nine or ten." 

"Father Helmsworth. Dickie? Dickie Helmsworth? But you were so chubby!"

"What can I say? The nagging of a good woman and a membership in a New York health club does wonders.

"Have you kept up with Julian? He and Vanessa and Tessa and the baby will be here in a few days." 

"Christmas cards and Facebook mostly, but it will be jolly good to see him." God, Sloan thought, these people really did say, jolly good. She also made a mental note to ask Mac exactly what a Viscount was. "So, Lady MacKenzie," Father Helmsworth cleared his throat, "whom are you marrying?"

"Really, Dickie, it's just MacKenzie or Mac. I'm an American citizen now." Mac flashed a slightly embarrassed smile in Sloan's direction. "And, I'm marrying Will McAvoy."

"My, my." Father Helmsworth, rubbed his chin. "Now, there's a power couple if ever there was one. McHale and McAvoy, the media elite, joined in holy matrimony and breeding little Morrows and Cronkites."

MacKenzie turned bright red. She was powerless to stop it. She felt like she had a scarlet P for pregnant embroidered on her chest. She could feel the heat of the blush creep up her neck and burn her ears. She was sure that if she touched her cheeks, she'd singe her fingers. Dickie didn't seem to notice, either because he was a man and genuinely unaware or because he was too well-bred to allow it to show, but Sloan was gaping at her friend. 

Blessedly for Mac, Father Helmsworth turned at just that moment to give Sloan a good look, clapped the heel of his hand loudly to his forehead, and said, "Sloan Sabbith! My gracious! Of course. I'm so honored to meet you. I watch News Night religiously. Very impressive show. If I may say so, you do an excellent job of covering economic issues in a way that is understandable to the masses without sacrificing accuracy."

"Thank you," Sloan said, genuinely charmed and thankfully distracted from staring at Mac. "I just try the copy out on Kenz, if she can understand it, I'm good to go."

Father Helmsworth laughed heartily assuming Sloan was joking.

After that, they got down to business and discussed Mac's wishes and preferences for the ceremony. She wanted to use the traditional Book of Common Prayer service, but thought that she and Will might like to write some extra vows themselves. She was sent home with a list of decision points, music preferences, the vows, who would do the readings and lessons and about ten other items that she and Will needed to discuss. 

When the women stood on the street, waiting for a cab, Sloan accosted Mac. "What was that blush about, Kenzie? The word 'breeding' gets you all hot and bothered?"

Mac decided that there was no way to pull off the reply, "what blush?" so she decided to just seem baffled by it. "God, Sloan, I don't know what made me do that. It was so embarrassing!" Mac gave her friend her most disarming smile. "It was quite warm in there. I'm sure that was part of it. Everyone in New York overheats interiors in winter."

"Not like in jolly old England, eh?" Sloan replied in a fake parody of Mac's accent. "Little Lady Mackie blushing at the idea of breeding with big Will McAvoy. How adorable!"

"Oh, please!"

"And what is a Viscount, anyway?"

"Usually, an Earl in training. Viscount Trowbridge is the title given to the Earl of Ailesbury's oldest son. Right now, that's my brother, Julian."

"Your father's the Earl of Ailesbury! And he's letting you marry some hick from Nebraska instead of some Lord of something or other!"

"First of all, Sloan Sabbith, my father's not letting me do anything. I'm marrying whom I please." MacKenzie intoned with her chin held high, looking every inch like Lady MacKenzie. "And second, Will is many things, but a hick isn't one of them. Have you any idea how utterly brilliant and educated and cultured he is?" Mac paused more it seemed for emphasis than to allow Sloan to reply. Then a smile began to play around her lips and eyes, which developed quickly into a full blown belly laugh. "If only we can teach him how to put on his pants before the wedding."

Still laughing, Sloan said, "he did that on purpose, you know. Hopping into the bull pen with his pants half off. He heard Brian ragging on you about how Will didn't want you. We both did. I saw Will's eyes when Brian said it and when he heard that you wouldn't accept it and started arguing with Brenner. I don't imagine Will could think of any other way to interrupt the conversation. He couldn't let himself do what he wanted, which was run in there and say, 'yes, I do want her,' but he couldn't not try to rescue you either. And, of course, he was genuinely in the process of getting dressed." Sloan smiled and squeezed MacKenzie. "But, bottom line, Kenz, Will made a fool of himself to save you from from having to bare your soul any further to that asshole Brenner."

The cab arrived, and as Mac slid inside, she turned to Sloan and said, "And that's the man my father's happy I'm marrying."


	19. Happy Christmas

On a crisp cold afternoon, three days before Christmas, the British invaded. Will stood in the private jet hanger reception area at JFK, waiting for the AWM jet to land and the McHale contingent to clear customs. Outside were two Lincoln stretch town cars prepared to whisk them into Manhattan, all courtesy of Leona. Will felt keyed up with a mix of anticipation and dread. The anticipation came from the fact that he had always liked these people enormously and had felt comfortably at home with Mac's family (with the exception of three-year-old Tessa and five-month-old Teddy, whom he had never met), and now he was part of it. This was his family who were arriving. His father-in-law, brothers-in-law, sister-in-law, niece and nephew, plus Mac's beloved Nanny, who, having raised Lady Margaret Morgan, was always more of a surrogate grandmother than care-giver to the McHale children. All here to spend Christmas in New York and then see him take MacKenzie as his wife "before God and this company." His own sisters, brother, and their spouses and children, along with more friends and family from around the country and the UK would be arriving for the wedding after Christmas. 

The dread, he knew, came from guilt. He hadn't needed Habib to tell him that. He felt like a fraud. The McHales had welcomed him back into the fold because they believed that he made MacKenzie happy and that he was taking care of her. But what if they knew what he knew - that he had emotionally savaged her, rejected her in a way that had nearly killed her and left her with physical and mental wounds that would never completely heal. It's not like he had taken enjoyment from doing any of those things, Habib had reminded him, or that his own pain had not been real, or so intense that six months ago, he would have sworn that it was he alone who had suffered from Mac's revelation about Brian. It hurt to be reminded of that too. Her falling back into Brian's bed now seemed so incredibly fucking inconsequential. How had he let it be the catalyst for so much agony and so much loss? 

"William!" He was jolted out of his reverie by Ted McHale's voice booming out what Will now could only think of as his son's name. Will felt slightly sick, and wondered if there was some way to get Mac's father to remember to call him Will so that Mac wouldn't have to hear her father constantly calling him by the baby's name. 

"Will, sir. Please call me Will. I always feel like I'm about to be reprimanded when someone calls me William," Will said with a smile, holding out his hand. "Where are the others? How did you get out so fast?"

"Still have a diplomatic passport. Special line and expedited entry. I can bring Maggie through with me, but that's all. The rest are left in steerage." Ted McHale shook Will's proffered hand and then pulled him into a tight hug. "How are you, son? Taking good care of my Mackie?"

"Trying to." 

Will's smile was so sweet that it brought to mind again Ted McHale's suspicions that MacKenzie must be pregnant. So, he decided to try for confirmation using a tactic that he had employed rarely but with some success in his diplomatic days - that of assuming his suspicions to be true and simply plowing ahead on that basis. And, so he replied, "Well, since Mackie definitely takes after her mother, I imagine your mornings are a bit rough. Maggie was sick as a dog for the first three months of each of her pregnancies."

As Mac's father expected, for a full 30 seconds, Will was totally nonplussed, completely flummoxed and absolutely incapable of constructing a reply. Part of Will's problem (of which Lord McHale was unaware) was that his reference to each of MacKenzie's mother's pregnancies had sent Will's thoughts spiraling back to 2007, wondering if Mac had been sick then, and imagining her the way he had seen her on so many mornings, weak and shaky, but also alone and heartbroken. No wonder she had "looked like a skeleton," as Charlie had so graphically put it during their last conversation. If only he'd been willing to see her . . . If only . . . If only . . . .

Finally, Will arranged his features into something he thought would pass muster, and fell back on his legal training, which had him sending the ball back into his Lordship's court. "What makes you think that MacKenzie's pregnant?" he asked as levelly as he could.

Ted McHale simply wrapped his arm companionably around Will's shoulder and smiling at his almost son-in-law, said, "William . . . Will, a word of advice. If you ever tire of journalism, may I suggest a return to law or politics, or really anything other than a career as a professional poker player. I'd hate to see my daughter and grandchild end up destitute."

At that point, it seemed to Will that the jig was well and truly up. "She doesn't want anyone to know yet," he said simply. "You're good, you know. Very good. You think Mac takes after her mother. I think she is you incarnate."

"Well, thank you. That's a very flattering compliment."

"And, yes," Will continued, "Mac's having more than her fair share of morning sickness. But, we've found some foods that she can tolerate and that help settle her stomach. And, thank God, it's never lasted into the day, so she eats well at lunch and dinner."

"Yes, she looks well on Skype. Ah! Here come the others. Don't worry, son," he said, patting Will's chest. "Your secret's safe with me."

 

In the car traveling back from the airport, Will texted Mac, who was out (yet again) doing "girl things" with Sloan and the new best friends, Margaret and Leona. She told him that they would be home soon, and indeed, as Ted, Julian, Mac's younger brother, Thomas, and he were hauling suitcases, a bouncy seat, a booster seat, a stroller and something called a Pack-n-Play into the lobby, Will looked up to see the sleek black form of Leona's town car, "AWM 1," pull to the curb. Mac jumped out and positively squealed as Tommy raced over, grabbed her up, and swung her around in his arms. She hugged and kissed everyone including Will, Sloan and to a lesser extent, Leona, who also got a hug and a big smooch from Ted McHale. This was followed by introductions as Sloan and "Lee," as Ted and Margaret called her, were introduced to Mac's brothers, sister-in-law, Nanny and niece, Tessa. Little Teddy oblivious to it all slept on in his car seat. Finally, Will suggested that they move the party inside and upstairs. 

It had been decided that Julian and his family would stay at Will's apartment, which had a large guest bedroom where Julian, Vanessa and little Teddy could sleep, a smaller guest room for Nanny and a seldom used office (he usually worked at the dining room table) that could be turned into a room for Tessa. Ted, Tommy and Tommy's girlfriend, who was arriving after Christmas, would join Margaret at Mac's apartment. The McHales still owned a beautiful old brownstone on the upper East Side, half a block from Central Park, where they had lived during the portion of Mac's childhood when Ted was at the New York consulate and the United Nations. However, after Mac declined their offer to live there when she came back to News Night, they had leased it to a family for a term that still had almost a year to run. 

Due to the fact that both their apartments would be full of people, the night before the wedding, Mac and Sloan were going to take a room at the Plaza, so they could get dressed in peace the next day and Will would not see his bride until she arrived at the church. 

Although not usually given to enjoying either crowds or parties (especially not in his apartment), Will found himself relishing the chaos engendered by Mac's boisterous family. He played bartender, giving Nanny and Vanessa gin and tonics, Mac a limeade masquerading as a vodka gimlet, and pouring single malt 12-year old Scotch neat for Sloan, Lee (as he was beginning to think of her) and the men. Leona and Sloan left after one drink since Elliot and Sloan were subbing for Will on News Night, and Sloan got a call from Don "wearing his EP hat," as Mac described it, and asking "where the hell" she was. After some consultation with Mac, they decided that he wouldn't try to cook that evening but would order their favorite Chinese take out for everyone. 

Tessa attached herself to Aunt Mackie much to Will's great pleasure. It occurred to him watching them that he really had never seen her relate to a young child. His sisters' children had already been teenagers even years ago when he had taken her to Nebraska to meet his family. They were young adults now, as he'd realized with some shock when he'd attended his father's funeral. Tessa and MacKenzie were sitting together in Mac's favorite reading chair sharing one of the picture books that Tessa had brought with her, as Will studied them. Then, Vanessa emerged from the bedroom where she had been nursing Teddy, and walking up to Mac, asked her if she would "trade" children so that Tess could be put into her pajamas before the food arrived. As Will watched, Mac stood up, bringing a disgruntled Tessa to her feet as well, and took the baby from Vanessa's arms.

Carrying and cooing to him, Mac walked to the window with her back to the room, and lowered her cheek to rub against the silky soft tufts of hair on top of his head. Then Will saw her tremble and start forcing herself to breathe in and out in long slow breaths. He stood and walked up behind her pressing the front of his body against her back and wrapping his arms under hers to help her support the baby. "It's okay," he said softly into her ear. She turned her head and he could see tears shimmering in her eyes. "You're doing just fine," he whispered. 

"Okay," she said. "I'm okay now. I just had a moment. Went back for a moment. I'm fine now." She smiled, and Will suspected that only he could see the pain behind it. He kissed her temple, just as Tess bounded back into the room and the phone rang to tell them that the food had arrived. Will looked around and assured himself that no one had seen or thought anything of his embracing Mac. 

 

Alone at last in their bed that night, Will held Mac while she talked. "What if that happens with our child? What if I can't take care of the baby without getting flashbacks? What kind of a mother will I be if I can't pick up my own child without trembling?"

"Jesus, Mac! Stop!" Unable to think of anything else to do, he kissed her lips. "Give yourself a break, Kenz. It's been six days since you let yourself remember that you held William alive. You have what . . . Almost seven and a half months until this baby is born? You've only begun to heal and look at the progress you've made in a matter of days. You're going to be just fine by the time the baby is born."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I know so. Ask Jake. He'll tell you. I was watching you with Tessa tonight. You are going to be a fabulous mother." He kissed her again. "Come on, Kenzie, let's get some sleep. I have the feeling that these McHales are early risers." She gave him a weak smile and nodded. As he snuggled her down against him, he sent up a prayer. Please God, he prayed, please be merciful and let this baby be a girl.

 

Across town, Margaret McHale closed the book on the page she had been staring at for the last five minutes as she contemplated once again the scene she had witnessed earlier that evening. They had looked, no, they had been, so sad standing there at the window holding little Teddy. Ever since, she had carried around a little ache for her daughter, which had now ripened into fear. She sighed and decided that she would never be able to sleep unless she shared her concerns with her husband. "Ted, are you sleeping?" she asked the softly snoring figure beside her. "Teddy, wake up, will you?"

"What? Yes? What? What's the matter?"

"I think that MacKenzie might have lost the baby."

Ted McHale, still half asleep, sat up with a jerk. "What? When? What are you talking about? Did they call?"

"No. I don't mean that she lost it tonight. I was watching them when she was holding Teddy before dinner. Will got up and embraced her and they seemed so very sad. I think maybe she lost the baby some time between when you first spoke to him about the wedding and when I arrived.

"Nonsense, Maggie. Mackie was still pregnant at 3:30 this afternoon."

"How ever do you know that?"

"I tricked William into confirming it for me at the airport. She doesn't want anyone to know yet, so I told him I'd keep it a secret. You mustn't tell anyone else." He patted her hand and kissed her cheek. "Now, feel better?"

"Yes, of course. Good night. Sorry I woke you." She kissed him back, and turned off the light still wondering what she had witnessed, but enormously relieved to have been wrong.

 

MacKenzie hated artificial trees. The co-op board rules did not allow real Christmas trees. There was, however, Will discovered on closer inspection, no prohibition on live evergreens. And so he set Neal on the task of locating on the internet the largest fir or spruce available in the tri-state area with a root ball still attached. It turned out to be a Douglas fir that was approximately six feet tall, weighed a ton, and with delivery charges, cost a fortune. It was, Will would reflect, money well spent. The tree, which acquired the name Doug somewhere along the line, became one of the McAvoy family's most prized possessions. Years later, Mac would joke that when she and Will were both dead and gone, Doug would be the only thing their heirs would fight over. 

Will would always remember Christmas 2012 as one of the most special of his life. Trimming the tree with everything from expensive European hand blown glass ornaments given to them by Leona and Reese to long garlands of popcorn that he and Tessa had made while nearly eating themselves sick in the process. Secretly buying a sprig of mistletoe, hanging it in the hallway and then grabbing an unsuspecting MacKenzie for a kiss. Popping Christmas crackers and wearing a silly paper crown for a traditional English Christmas feast with his new family and guests Dickie Helmsworth, the man who would marry him to MacKenzie, Dickie's wife and children, Don and Sloan and Charlie, Nancy and Sophie Skinner. Attending mid-night Mass at St. Thomas' church, breathing in the scent of pine and incense, holding Mac's hand as they sang carols, watching the glow of candlelight reflected in her eyes, and then carrying a sleeping Tessa back to the car. 

Tired as they were when they returned from church, Will and Mac made love with slow liquid movements which built to a white hot passion that brought them both to peak and release. Then, as they lay tangled together, sliding into sleep, they murmured,

"Happy Christmas, Billy."

"Happy Christmas, Kenz."


	20. Sisters

On the morning of December 26, 2012, Boxing Day, as the British relatives called it, the American side of the family arrived. As Will and Mac waited at the airport for their flights to land, Mac expressed concern that Will's sisters and brother would feel slighted that they and their families were not being invited to stay with Will, or be jealous that her family had filled his apartment. He assured her that the opportunity to spend a week ensconced in suites at the Plaza Hotel compliments of Uncle Will was such a special treat for all of them that he doubted they had spared a moment's thought to why they had not been invited to stay with him. 

The first to appear was Rosemary McAvoy Wilson, Will's older sister, her husband, Kevin, and their daughters, Alison and Elizabeth. Ali, as she introduced herself to Mac, was senior at the University of Nebraska, Will's alma mater. Beth was a freshman and Mac knew from documents she'd seen on Will's computer, being sent by her uncle to her heart's desire, Oberlin College, a small private liberal arts school (with the emphasis on liberal, Mac thought smugly) that her parents could never have afforded. Both girls were extremely attractive and favored their mother in a way that made Mac guess that Rosemary had been quite a "looker" thirty years ago when she'd met Kevin. 

Since the next arrival, Will's younger sister Karen and her family, was not due for another hour, Will, Mac and the Wilson's set off for baggage claim to give the luggage to a porter who would deliver it to the driver of the limousine that would take the Wilson's to their hotel. Then, they all headed for one of the restaurants on the concourse to wait until it was time to take up their post just outside of the security gate and wait for Karen. As they walked through the terminal, Kevin and Will began talking about college football and whether someone named Johnny Manziel had deserved to win the Heisman Trophy. Although Mac could make herself sit through a whole game of American football, she really drew the line at conversations centering around sports trivia. So she tuned out and walked along gazing at the windows of the shops they were passing. After a few minutes, Rosemary came up beside her.

"I know you must be stretched to the breaking point with wedding preparations and all of the out-of-town family that you and Will are juggling, but I'd really like to have a little time alone with you, MacKenzie. I'd love to take you to lunch, or just meet somewhere for coffee, if that's easier."

For some reason, the request made Mac feel uneasy and suspicious, which, in turn, made her feel ashamed. Rosemary had never been anything but kind and friendly to her. Of course, she hadn't seen Will's sister since she broke his heart, but Mac couldn't quite believe that Rosemary would pick the eve of their wedding to take her to task for hurting Will. "Sure. I'd love to. I have an early morning appointment, but I could come by the Plaza afterwards, say around 9:00, and we could get breakfast." And with luck, I won't be sick all over you, Mac finished in her head. 

"Oh, that would be perfect," Rosemary said, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving MacKenzie a little squeeze. "I'm so happy for you and Will. I haven't seen my brother like this since . . . Well, I guess, since he brought you to meet us six years ago." It really didn't sound like Rosemary had a scolding in mind.

 

Karen McAvoy, who had divorced her husband a few years before, arrived with her eighteen year-old son, Mark, and twenty-one year old daughter, Caroline. Followed shortly by Will's only brother, James, his wife, Phyllis, and their seventeen year-old daughter, Harriet. James was an orthopedist in Des Moines, whom Mac had never met. He was smaller and darker than Will, and looked much like the picture of their mother that Will kept on his bedroom dresser. Mac cringed slightly thinking that this must mean that Will took after John McAvoy, of whom she'd seen few pictures, none of which were on display in their apartment.

James hugged her, as Will beamed, and welcomed her to the family. Phyllis seemed friendly, if shy, but it was Harriet who captured Mac's attention. The girl was physically striking, with long blonde hair and Will's blue eyes. She was a senior in high school, in the throes of the college application process, as was Karen's son, Mark. But while Mark was looking at schools where he could play baseball, Harriet had applied early decision to the Journalism School at Northwestern University. 

"Northwestern, uh?" Mac had said, trying to keep her grin in check.

"Yes," Harriet replied, chuckling, "Northwestern. And yes, I've seen the You Tube of Uncle Will's rant. It's viral, you know? And, the admissions department knows I'm one of those McAvoy's. So far, they haven't disqualified me because of it, or if they have, they haven't told me yet."

Will put his arm around MacKenzie, and said to Harriet, "this lady here is completely responsible for everything I did at Northwestern. She was in the audience and held up cue cards that said, 'It's not. But it can be' right after I was asked why America is the greatest country on Earth. I was just taking direction from my EP."

"Oh, I know all about her, Uncle Will." Harriet began to recite, "MacKenzie Morgan McHale. Educated at the Dalton School in New York and then boarded at Cheltenham Ladies College and Cambridge University, where she was elected President of the Cambridge Union debating society. Worked a bit in print media and then became the youngest female executive producer in cable news when she took over News Night in 2005." Will and Mac both gaped at her. Harriet just smiled, and continued speaking. "She left ACN in 2007 and spent three years embedded with U.S. Troops in Iraq, reporting and producing for CNN, and then returned to ACN in 2010, where she revamped your show into the best newscast on cable. She's the media elite, and exactly what I want to be."

"Smart girl," was all Will said. 

 

That night after Will's family had left for the Plaza, Ted, Margaret and Tommy had departed for Mac's apartment and the rest of the McHales were occupied putting the children to bed, Will and MacKenzie had their first moments alone since the drive to the airport that morning. As they were washing up after feeding the assembled McAvoy - McHale multitude a dinner of spaghetti ("pisketty" to Tessa) with meatballs and garlic bread, Mac told him about Rosemary's invitation and their plan to meet at the Plaza after MacKenzie's session with Dr. Habib.

"I know it's irrational to think that she's going to chew me out for hurting you, but I just can't shake it. My natural guilt complex, I suppose."

"I'm sure she just wants the chance to reconnect with you. There are so many people around, her only opportunity is to try to get you alone.

"Has she asked to see you alone?"

"Well, no. But she knows me better. And besides," he said grinning, walking up behind where she was putting serving bowls into the dishwasher, and wrapping his arms around her, "you're a lot more fun to connect with." She straightened up and he started nuzzling her neck. "I'd like to connect with you, or maybe that's to you, myself."

"Oh, you would, would you?" She laughed and turned in his arms to give him a slow burning kiss. "I think that could be arranged."

 

MacKenzie and Will were awakened a little after 5:00 AM the next morning when Mac started experiencing gripping nausea. Within a few minutes, she was on her feet and then retching in the bathroom. Forgetting that they had guests, Will left all the doors open on his route to the kitchen for crackers and electrolyte fortified water. Vanessa, who was having coffee in the living room while Julian was on "Daddy duty," followed the unmistakable sound on some maternal instinct guidance system, and came across her sister-in-law on her knees, elbows braced against the seat and her head half into the toilet bowl in the master bath. 

"Mackie!?"

Mac looked up in shock and probably would have said, Vanessa's name as well, were she not immediately otherwise occupied. Vanessa strode into the bathroom and looked around for a wash cloth. Upon locating one, she soaked it in cool water, and after wringing it out, placed it against Mackenzie's forehead. After a few more retches, Mac reached up without looking and quickly located and pulled the handle to the flushing mechanism (a skill that was not lost on Vanessa). As the toilet flushed, Mac sat back on her haunches, took the cloth from Vanessa and wiped her face and mouth. 

"An attack of nerves," Mac lied, smiling. "Pre-wedding jitters. At least, that what I hope it is. It would be terrible to be getting the flu."

"Really. Nerves, Mackie? You're nervous about marrying this guy?" Vanessa gestured at Will, who had just returned with the crackers and water, and was standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face. "This blonde hunk over here, who's just brought you crackers and, let me see, electrolyte fortified bottled water? Yes, I should certainly be having second thoughts about marrying anyone who adored me as much as he does you." Vanessa's voice dripped sarcasm. "Much flu going around, Will?" She turned to him and smiled innocently. 

"Well, it is Winter," he managed to say after only one missed beat.

"Yes, it certainly is." Vanessa looked back at MacKenzie who remained sitting on the bathroom floor doing her best to look innocent and guileless. "Okay, Mackie, suit yourself." Vanessa sounded a bit put out.

"Vanessa," Mac finally spoke, desperate to do something so that her sister-in-laws' feelings would not be bruised. "I don't know what you're thinking . . . . " Will winced at that one. Mac really was off her game.

"You don't?" Vanessa replied. "Must be all those hormones gone to your brain. I follow the early-morning sounds of honking and find my perfectly healthy sister-in-law with her head in the crapper. Whatever would come to mind from that? Does the word, preggars, ring a bell with you?"

"Nessa, come on." It came out almost as a whine. Then, Mac pushed herself up to standing too quickly, and, becoming light-headed, started to sway. Both Will and Vanessa grabbed her at the same time. "Whoa," she said, "I think I'd better have some of those crackers and water."

"And sit down," Will stated, steering her to a chair against the bedroom wall and handing her the plate and water bottle.

"Okay. You win." Mac sighed and looked up at Vanessa, who was eyeing her with a bit of concern. Taking a sip of water and biting into and swallowing a bit of cracker, MacKenzie said, "I'm about seven weeks along. I was trying not to let the cat out of the bag until we get through the genetic testing."

Nessa launched herself at Mac, just as Will reached out and pulled the plate of crackers off her lap. "Oh, Mackie! I'm so happy." They hugged tightly. "You're going to be the cutest mummy on earth! And you too," she gestured at Will, "you are both so gorgeous. I just can't wait to see the beautiful baby you've made. And Teddy won't even be that much older than his cousin. I hope you'll have a boy so they can become jolly mates."

"Ness, promise me that you won't tell anyone. It's not just the testing," Mac said. "There's this lawsuit against ACN and AWM . . . "

"That wanker who altered the footage?"

"That wanker indeed. And believe it or not, the baby somehow has strategic value to our side . . . "

"That's not why you blokes got preggars, is it?"

"No! Of course not. Loyalty to the Lansing's has its limits. Really!"

"Just asking."

"Anyway, our lawyer wants to spring the pregnancy on Dantana's forces at some particular point in the proceedings and doesn't want them to get wind of it beforehand."

"Well, that's a disappointment. I was hoping that Julian could hold a press conference. Raise his political profile on this side of the pond." Vanessa smiled and kissed Mac. "I won't tell a soul."

Will wondered how many McHales would be running around thinking they were to only ones to know about Mac's pregnancy before the visit was over. So far, two and counting.

 

After MacKenzie left with Lonny to be driven to her appointments with Habib and Rosemary, Will sat at the kitchen counter, having a cup of coffee with Vanessa. She had started dating Julian around the same time that Will started seeing Mac. When he had travelled to the UK with Mac in the fall of 2006, a visit he always thought of as his call-back audition, Vanessa had just achieved the status of Official Girlfriend and regular invitee to family events. They were talking about those days.

"We were a pair back then," Vanessa chuckled, sipping her coffee. "Both of us so nervous around His Lordship. Of course, I had no hope of doing anything other than avoid tripping over my feet with him. But you," she paused listening to a sound from the other end of the apartment that, Will thought, only a mother could hear. "He adored you. Simply loved matching wits with you. You both are so bright. I couldn't even follow the conversations half the time."

"Don't sell yourself short, Vicountess Trowbridge."

"I'm not, just being realistic. You and Mackie and Ted can think rings around me. Ted was heartbroken when you and Mac broke up. What happened, if I may be so bold?"

"Ness, I don't think I can explain it in the time we've got. Parts of what I did, I don't even understand."

"Mackie always said it was her fault."

"Well, it wasn't. Suffice it to know that I behaved like an arse, as Mac would say. But she forgave me and came back to save me from myself." He turned to Vanessa. "And now, I shall dedicate my life to repaying that favor."

 

Because it was so close to the wedding, Mac's sessions with Dr. Habib were relatively short and calm. He wasn't about to push MacKenzie into remembering or dealing with anything upsetting with an apartment full of relatives and what Jake hoped would be one of the happiest days of her life just around the corner. They had talked again about the episode holding Teddy, and, as Will had predicted, the doctor assured her that she should not worry about her ability to mother the child she was carrying. Consequently, Mac arrived in good spirits at the Plaza Hotel a little before 9:00 AM for her breakfast with Rosemary. Even the day's bout of nausea seemed to be over, and she felt like she would be able to eat. She rang Rosemary's suite and they agreed to meet in the Palm Court. 

"MacKenzie!" Rosemary called out, walking up to the table where Mac was seated. Mac rose and gave Will's sister a hug. Rosemary returned the hug warmly and kissed Mac's cheek. "You're looking beautiful this morning. Just like a bride should. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet me."

"Thank you for taking the time to come to the wedding," Mac replied.

"As if I'd miss my brother marrying the love of his life."

After they had ordered food, Rosemary grabbed Mac's hand across the table and squeezed. "The main reason that I wanted to see you was to thank you for my brother."

"You're thanking me for something on Will's behalf?" Mac asked, genuinely confused.

"No," Rosemary laughed. "I'm thanking you for my brother's life. For restoring joy to his life and giving him a reason to live."

MacKenzie just stared at the older woman. Finally, when she felt that she must be appearing to be rude, she mumbled, "thank you, but I'm not sure I understand."

"I only saw Will a few times when you were in the Middle East, but he was . . . I don't know . . . dead, flat, like he was merely going through the motions of being alive. I was very concerned. Then, when he came for our father's funeral, he was so different. He was excited about things, interested in things again. Every second word out of his mouth was about you. MacKenzie said this, or Mac and I thought that . . . "

Midway through Rosemary's description of Will in Nebraska at the funeral, Mac made one of the faces for which she was famous in the newsroom, raising both of her eyebrows and folding her lips into a thin line of skepticism. "What?" Rosemary asked.

"Are you sure you heard him properly?" Mac asked. "He was with Nina when his father died," she continued almost to herself, lowering her head slightly.

"Who's Nina?" Rosemary said so genuinely that Mac realized that she must be telling the truth.

Mac looked up. "Nobody. Well, somebody, actually, but it's not important."

At that moment, their breakfasts were served, and the conversation paused and shifted to small talk while they ate. After the dishes were cleared, while Rosemary enjoyed a second cup of coffee and Mac a cup of herbal tea, the older woman's demeanor turned somber.

"Mac, I'd like to ask you a question, and I hope you'll be honest with me. I'd like to know why you left him. Why you went to Iraq?"

"What did Will tell you?"

"Not much. Nothing that made sense. That he was angry with you because you had torn out his heart. But, I've always wondered if . . . Well, did you run from him because he became violent with you?" Rosemary suddenly looked old to MacKenzie, as if just formulating those words had cost her dearly.

Tears flooded into Mac's eyes. "Oh, God!"

Thinking she was getting confirmation, Rosemary said, "I've always been afraid . . .."

"No! No!" Mac almost screamed. Then, looking around in embarrassment, she lowered her voice. "Rosemary, you must believe me, Will has never hit me, or even been the least bit physically rough with me."

Will's sister looked unconvinced, the result of a lifetime living with her mother, an enabler, who, Mac knew, had long denied and covered for her husband's abusive behavior.

Mac took a deep breath. She couldn't leave things like this. This was a thousand times worse than Sloan believing that Will had cheated on her. "Alright, I'm going to tell you what happened. You have to believe . . . you have to know what kind of man your brother is. He is nothing, nothing" Mac repeated for emphasis, "like his father."

MacKenzie pulled out her credit card, brushing away Rosemary's offers to pay for breakfast, and stating, "my treat " in her Lady MacKenzie tone that brooked no argument. "But, I can't do this here," she said. "I'll wait while you get your coat and things. Let's take a walk in the park."

As they crossed the street and entered Central Park, Mac began, "I started dating Will on the rebound. I'd been rejected by a man I'd been with for several years and with whom I'd convinced myself I was in love. He'd rejected me rather brutally. I suppose I went out with Will at least in part hoping that it would make Brian, that's his name, jealous. Anyway, after I'd been seeing Will for almost a year, it worked. Brian started calling me and telling me he'd been a fool . . . He missed me . . . Wanted me back. You know the drill." When Rosemary nodded, Mac continued, "I was flattered, stupidly flattered. " Mac shook her head as if to dispel the memory. "I started seeing him again. Meeting him for dinner that sort of thing. Although Will and I had never made any explicit commitments to each other, I knew Will wasn't seeing anyone else, and I didn't tell him that I was also dating Brian. It went on for about four months, during which I slept with my ex-lover on three or four occasions."

"And Will found out?" Rosemary asked.

"No. Actually, I came to my senses and realized that I was risking the relationship I wanted with the kindest most loving man I'd ever known for a jerk whom I didn't really care about. I told Brian that I never wanted to see him again."

"So what went wrong?"

Mac stopped and closed her eyes, "a little over a year later, I got pregnant."

"With Will's child?"

"Yes. Actually, it happened not long after we got back from visiting you in Nebraska. He was talking about marriage. While it wasn't what I'd had planned, basically I was thrilled about the baby, a lot of it was that I knew he would be too." Rosemary smiled and nodded. "Things had gotten so serious between us and then we were going to be parents and . . . Well, I felt that I needed to tell him about my ill-considered reconciliation with Brian before I told him about the baby." Mac started walking again. "I completely misjudged his reaction. I thought that he knew that I loved him deeply . . . that I was his completely . . . but he didn't. I had no idea then how under his self-confident exterior, there's a little boy who . . . ." Mac raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"You had no idea how much our father had damaged him." 

"None, really. I knew that his father had beaten him and been violent with his mother, your mother, and the rest of you, but no, I had no frame of reference for what that kind of childhood could do to a person . . . ." Mac trailed off.

"I don't know what it was about Will that set our father off, but things got really bad after he was born. He was this beautiful, brilliant, precocious little boy. I don't think my father knew what to do with him. I think Will made him feel inadequate somehow. I don't know. But he started hitting my mother more when Will was just a little baby. And then, he decided when Will was two, certainly less than three, that he was a bad boy and needed to be harshly disciplined. That's when he started beating him."

Mac felt physically ill and looked around for somewhere to sit down. She found a bench, sat down heavily and put her head in her hands. Rosemary sat beside her, and spoke softly, "you told him about this Brian before you told him about the baby?"

"Yes. Or, rather, I told him about Brian, and that was it. He went cold. Ice cold. He refused to listen to anything I had to say. He just told me he wanted me out of his life, both personally and professionally, forever. I had 48 hours to remove all traces of myself, I remember those words, from his apartment and disappear. Then he left. I never told him that I was pregnant."

"Oh, God," Rosemary whispered, one hand across her mouth and the other reaching for Mac's hands which were trembling in her lap. 

"I resigned as executive producer of News Night and cleared out of his apartment. I called, emailed and texted him multiple times a day for weeks, months really, but he never acknowledged my existence. Finally, when I thought I'd lose my mind if I stayed in New York any longer, I asked Charlie Skinner to help me find work elsewhere."

"Did he know about the baby?"

"No. And he still doesn't. For years, I told no one. I only told Will three weeks ago. I wouldn't have told you but I couldn't have you believing that I went to Iraq because Will . . . " Mac's voice broke, as tears started down her face. "And, please, please promise me that you won't tell this to anyone else. No one, please. Will you promise?"

"Of course. Of course. No one. Not even Kevin. I promise." Rosemary looked at Mac with an expression of love and compassion that reminded her of Will. "What happened to the baby, Mac?"

"Charlie sent me to do a three week producing job in Afghanistan. It was easy duty. A fluff piece really. All shot in the Green Zone. I stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, which is as luxurious as it gets in Kabul. However, while I was there, the baby was born very prematurely. I was only twenty-three weeks along." MacKenzie saw Rosemary's eyes fill with tears, as her arms came around Mac and drew her close. "He only lived for a few minutes," Mac finished, her words muffled against the older woman's shoulder. "Long enough for me to name him, William."

Mac pulled back so that she could look at her sister-in-law's face. "That's when I ran from Will, Rosemary. I was afraid to see him. Afraid that if I did, I'd go insane. I suppressed the events of the baby's birth in order to survive. I couldn't do that around Will, so I ran. Will has never hit me, or abused me in any way. Even when he was furious with me about Brian, he never raised his hand to me. You must believe me. You must . . . "


	21. And More Sisters

When Lonny arrived back at the Plaza to pick up MacKenzie, he found her pale and subdued. It was all he could do not to ask what had happened with Will's sister to effect such a radical change from the upbeat demeanor Mac had projected when he'd dropped her off. From the way Rosemary and Mac had embraced as they said their goodbyes, it didn't appear as though they had had any sort of falling out during breakfast. It looked more like they had shared something sad. He reflected on how even the idea that he'd contemplate making personal inquiries of a client (a white female client, no less) would have been enough to horrify his employer. But, Lonny knew that he was traveling with the one person to whom he could indeed pose such a question. If Mac didn't want to answer, she'd say so, but she'd not be offended. They had shared too much for that.

After Will had started dating Nina, Lonny had put in for reassignment. The night he had spent with MacKenzie at the hospital after they'd found Will unconscious and bleeding internally on his bathroom floor simply made it impossible for him to stay on and watch Will play house with Nina. It was company policy to tell clients that a change of bodyguards was an arbitrary personnel rotation regardless of the reason for the change, or rather especially when the reason was a requested reassignment. Will seemed to accept this. MacKenzie did not. 

"It's because I think he needs a bodyguard who isn't dyin' to put a bullet in his head," was Lonny's answer to Mac's question about whether "this business with Nina" had anything to do with his leaving Will. Mac had called Lonny's personal cell phone number, which he'd give her the night they'd found Will, shortly after she'd learned about Nina and asked if she could buy him a Saturday brunch. Of course he'd agreed to see her. She'd told him that she was scared. She didn't care for the new guy; didn't feel like Will was safe, and asked Lonny that if it was in his control, to "please do a favor for me" and go back to protecting Will. 

"I just can't watch him being such a senseless jerk," he'd said in place of what he wanted to say which was that he couldn't sleep at night seeing Will with Nina and knowing what it must be doing to MacKenzie.

"Please, Lonny, he can't come to his senses and see that I'm his only chance for true happiness if he's dead," she had said. That and the look in her eyes had won him over.

"Jesus, Mac, what did that asshole ever do to deserve you or make you love him this much?" Lonny had blurted out in frustration. 

Lonny Church's relationship with MacKenzie McHale had fundamentally shifted into exactly what he had no earthly idea, the night that they discovered Will on his bathroom floor. At the hospital when Charlie was no longer there to hold MacKenzie together, fear that Will would die had triggered a full-blown PTSD meltdown. Lonny had witnessed too many of them in his days as an MP not to recognize what he was seeing. He got her out of the hospital and into the car, but she became hysterical at the suggestion that they leave the hospital grounds. He'd driven to a secluded corner of the parking lot, from which she could still see the building lights, and there they had spent the night. He had held her while she trembled and vomited in the bushes. He'd tried to calm her the several times that her heart raced uncontrollably and her breathing turned rapid and shallow. Finally, she had fallen into a troubled sleep from pure exhaustion, only to experience even worse terrors. Unable at first to wake her from the nightmare, Lonny had held Mac while she screamed for "Billy" and sometimes "Will" in what seemed to be acute physical pain. It broke his heart to hear her apologize over and over again for God knew what and beg for Billy's forgiveness, but the saddest thing was hearing Mac repeat and repeat to Billy in a small tragic voice that "she was so sorry" and "he was too little to live." It didn't take long for Lonny to suspect that she was talking about a baby, but the implications of that were too invasive of Mac's privacy and horrifying to contemplate, and so he did his best to put it out of his mind.

At more than one point during the night, Lonny considered taking her back into the hospital and getting help, but he was pretty sure that they would admit her as a psychiatric patient and Mac didn't need all the grief that could follow from that. Finally after waking from the nightmare, she had cried herself into a relatively tranquil sleep and they were both able to get some rest for a couple of hours. When she awoke, Mac was calmer. Her cell phone hadn't rung so the nurses hadn't called to tell her that Will had taken a turn for the worst in the night. He had marveled at her dignity when she had apologized for keeping him there all night, and thanked him for staying with her. She said that she'd been having nightmares since she was stabbed in Pakistan and vaguely remembered having one with him during the night, and "hoped that she hadn't scared him."

He had assured her that she had not (bullshit, he'd been terrified half the night that she wouldn't come out of the episode intact) but couldn't stop himself from being so bold as to ask her if she got any kind of help or took any kind of anti-anxiety drugs or sleeping pills. She said that she had seen a therapist when she first returned to New York and didn't like the way drugs made her feel. Things were much more under control now, she asserted, and said that it took some big unlikely trauma "like finding Will half dead" to trigger a bad reaction these days. Then she had hugged him and kissed his cheek. 

 

From the Plaza, they proceeded to ACN, where Mac had promised Jim she would briefly attend a noon rundown for yet another "News Night with Elliott Hirsch substituting for Will McAvoy." They were early and Mac needed time to think so she asked Lonny if he could stop and get her a cup of herbal tea and just park in the underground garage and let her stay in the car for a little while. "Sure, nothin' I like better than spending time in a car with you, Mac," he'd replied with a cheeky grin, as he pulled into a white zone by a Starbucks. 

Okay, Mac thought as she breathed in the comforting aromatic steam from the cup of tea in her hand, I can figure this out. Will needed to be informed that she had told his sister about William. But that would require telling him the circumstances under which she had made the disclosure and the circumstances would hurt and anger him. How would he handle the idea that Rosemary thought that he might have fallen into repeating his father's violent tendencies? Not well, she imagined. She wasn't Will, and yet when she had come back sufficiently on the park bench, she had gotten angry and defensive about it and demanded to know how Rosemary could possibly think that Will could be violent or accuse him of harming her. 

She had realized two things from Rosemary's calm and logical answer. The first was that Rosemary didn't hate her father as Mac suspected Will still did. Or maybe it was that Rosemary didn't see him as one dimensional the way Will did. This would be something to discuss with Jake Habib, she thought. So while Rosemary had been deeply troubled by the idea that Will might have lost control during whatever had ensued that caused his breakup with Mac, in her mind, she was not accusing him of some irredeemably heinous crime or irreparable personality defect. Rosemary assured her that she never thought for a moment that Will and Mac had an ongoing abusive relationship like that of her parents. She could tell from their visit to her home that that wasn't true. She was simply trying to make sure that if Will had lost control under extreme duress, Mac was capable of handling Will's tendency to violence in a mature and therapeutic manner.

The second revelation was that Will's and her actions six years ago had appeared totally illogical and baffling to the people who cared about them. As Rosemary had put it, she'd "spent more than three years in a ringside seat to the inexplicable." Within a few months of seeing Will and Mac together in her home more in sync and in love than almost anyone she'd ever known, it was over. Mac was no longer with News Night. She was out of Will's life forever for reasons that he would not share. Then, rather than everyone calming down and starting to work again on what was obviously a strong and loving relationship, a few months after that, Rosemary had turned on the TV to find Mac reporting under fire on a battle between Iraqi security forces, the U.S. military and al-Qaeda in Baqubah. (Mac had been stunned that Rosemary actually remembered the name of the town where the battle had taken place. Mac herself had forgotten where she'd been in September 2007.) Of course Rosemary had given her imagination free reign as she tried to come up with some explanation that could make some sense out of all of it. 

That was it! The answer came to Mac in one of those moments of blinding clarity that the cartoonists illustrate with a light bulb. She pulled out her cell phone and tapped Rosemary's number. She asked her to call Will right now; "right this minute and do whatever it takes to get him to meet you immediately." 

"You've got to tell him about our conversation in the park," Mac told Will's sister. "He needs to know that I told you about William and he needs to know why. That's going to upset him and he's going to see your suspicions as a lack of trust and an attack on his character," Mac plowed on without giving the older woman a chance to answer, "but it will be best for him to process it right there with you. Don't let him walk away from you. Explain it to him the way you did to me. Stay with him until he understands. Okay?" Mac finished breathlessly. 

"Okay," came the shaky rely.

"Good. Go. Oh, and Rosemary . . . "

"Yes?"

"I love you."

 

Mac entered the conference room and Sloan jumped up to hug her. "I'm so excited," she whispered into Mac's ear. "I've got the whole morning tomorrow planned. You are going to be the most beautiful bride who ever lived." Mac hugged her back and smiled. She looked around the room and noticed that Will was not present.

As if reading her mind, Jim volunteered, "Will was here, but he got a call and had to go out. Said he was leaving you his complete proxy on the rundown." 

"Great," Mac smiled, "let's get started. I really need to be out of here promptly. Sloan and Jim, you guys, too. The rehearsal is at 4 sharp. St. Thomas' at 53rd and Fifth." Then, Mac pulled out her cell phone and texted Charlie to remind him too."

The fiscal cliff was the lead story and would take up most of A block, with a recap in C. It was killing Sloan. Only Mac's and Will's wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner and possibly her own death would have caused Sloan to pass on broadcasting that night. As it was, she had painstakingly crafted the copy and was endlessly rehearsing poor Elliot to make sure he was prepared to interview the Tea Party guests. Much of the meeting was devoted to the degree that Elliot would step into Will's shoes and take the Tea Party on and criticize the Tea Party Congressmens' short-sighted policies.

"Elliot has to be careful. We can't put him where Will is getting death threats. He has a wife and children!" Mac had argued passionately. "What?" she'd asked when everyone was staring at her, realizing that Will was about to have a wife and wondering whether he and Mac would have children riding around with their dad and Lonny hoping that no one would take a shot at them. "Oh, Jesus," Mac had whispered, quickly sitting back down in her chair, and taking a calming sip of her tea, as she thought about the embryo inside her on the cusp of developing a beating heart. "Well," she breathed deeply, "we've been living with it for a while now, and there's no going back. Besides, Will's been writing copy to make things worse when we get back next week, so let's not push things with Elliot right now."

 

Mac left ACN and caught a cab back to Will's (no, their, she had to start thinking of it that way) apartment since Lonny had gone off to drive Will. She arrived just as Vanessa was putting Tess down for a short nap in the hope that she would then last through the rehearsal and dinner. The little Stella McCartney flower girl dress hung on a hanger on the office doorknob. "Major meltdown getting that off of her," Vanessa gestured to the dress before bending down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "How are you holding up?" Ness asked, hugging Mac and then looking around conspiratorially, lowering her voice and adding, "Mum." Mac smiled back at her. "You look tired," Vanessa continued. "In need of a nap, yourself? You've probably got an hour or two before you'll have to get into the shower."

"Actually, that sounds like a plan. It would be embarrassing to have the bride fall asleep in the fettuccine." She gave Nessa a quick kiss. "Have I told you lately how thrilled I am that you married Julian?"

 

Mac awoke to the feeling of lips on hers, warmth flowing down her body, and Will's scent suffusing her senses with comfort. This time, the spike of fear that this could all be taken away from her in an instant served only to add intensity to the pleasure. "Billy," she whispered softly. 

"Hey, Kenz." She opened her eyes and looked at his face. He was okay. He'd been crying. She could see that. Anyone could tell, actually, but his touch communicated a man at peace with the world. The conversation with Rosemary had gone well. Thank you, God, she thought, lovely wedding present this, and rolled over to touch more of his body with hers. 

"I just saw Rosemary. You told her about William," he said reverently, kissing her. "You talked about it to protect me. You just can't stand for people to think ill of me . . . ."

"For people not to see you as you are," she corrected, running her finger along his lower lip. "Does this put the email thingy to everyone at AWM in a whole new light?" she ventured.

"No," he raised up a bit to look at her, "that was still totally idiotic, and unforgivable. Jesus, Mac! How can anyone brilliant enough to be elected President of the Cambridge Union not be able to figure out how to work a fucking email system?"

"Sorry I asked."

"Well," he said, kissing her again and putting his finger under her chin and raising her face so he could look into her eyes, "I guess I can forgive you the email blast, if you can forgive me for telling Rosemary that you're pregnant."

"What?"

"It happened somewhat by accident. It was a bit of a drawing room farce there at the beginning with each of us saying 'the baby' . . . ."

"Oh," Mac groaned, finishing his sentence, "and thinking the other meant a different baby."

"Yes, she opened up with, 'Mac told me about the baby' and I broke into the idiotic grin that thinking about you being pregnant always puts on my face . . . couldn't figure out why she was looking at me strangely until . . . ."

"Oh, God!" Mac groaned again and rolling over, pulled a pillow over her head. From under the pillow came a muffled sound.

"What's that?" Will asked, chuckling softly and pulling the pillow away.

"It's a good thing it's Julian who's followed Daddy into the diplomatic service."

"No, seriously, your instincts were right on. Rosemary told me that it was your idea that it should be she who told me about her question to you today. If you had told me, I'm sure I'd have focused on the hurt and insult of it, just like you feared."

Actually, it had been MacKenzie who had been Will's principal focus after it had become clear that it was William's birth and not her current pregnancy about which she had talked with Rosemary. Now he asked her, "you got through it alright?" although he had already heard Rosemary's description.

Mac laughed softly, "well, I didn't tell her any of the really bad parts, but it did occur to me that if I fell to the pavement in Central Park unable to breathe and your sister called 911, you might be having your wedding ceremony in the psych ward at Bellevue." He kissed her, once again feeling swamped and awed by her strength and courage. "But," she continued, "I couldn't really think of a story to explain my running away to embed." No, Will thought, except under extreme duress, McHales don't run, they stay and fight. "And, well, I felt that William deserved more from me than to be hidden from his aunt behind a web of lies," MacKenzie finished with a tiny sigh. 

His sister, Rosemary. William's aunt. He had told her the bad parts. Not breaking down until he was confessing that he'd ignored Mac's calls from the hotel. "She hemorrhaged. Badly. She thought she was dying. She almost did." He heard Rosemary's sharp intake of breath, but she did not interrupt him. "She called me. Seven times. After he . . . William . . . died when she thought she would be dead soon too, she asked me not to let . . . " Will's voice broke. He swallowed several times and continued, "not to let my anger at her keep me from finding someone to love and being happy. I wouldn't talk to her." Rosemary had been frozen by the remorse and sorrow in her brother's voice. "I don't remember looking at the caller ID and refusing to talk to her," he'd said, "but, I must have. Christ, Rosemary, I'm a journalist. I answer my fucking phone! But I left her there alone. She had our baby alone and watched him die."

Rosemary had opened her arms to him, rubbed his back, played with his hair and called him, Willy, like she did when they were children and she used to comfort him after he'd been beaten by their father. She had cried too, tears of grief for her brother and his wife, and tears of guilt that she could have thought that he had ever physically hurt MacKenzie. She had explained that she had never really thought that he would hit Mac, but she simply couldn't imagine what force on earth would have made Mac take herself off half way around the world and put herself in physical danger instead of staying and fighting for her relationship with Will. He had told her not to apologize, that what he had done to Mac was every bit as bad as a physical beating, maybe worse.

Rosemary had also cried tears of joy, for, as she told him, it was so good to "have my brother back." She told him that she had been scared for him when he had cut himself off from her, and it seemed everyone else, after the break-up with Mac. Yes, he thought, I did, and he'd said, "I think I cut myself off from everyone because if MacKenzie could betray me, then anyone could. But Mac never betrayed me. Mac is incapable of betraying me. No one will ever . . . no one has ever loved me that way she does. I couldn't see that. I don't know what happened to me when she tried to tell me about Brian. I need to understand it, Rosemary. To her, what she did with Brian had nothing to do with me. That's what Dr. Habib was trying to tell me years ago when he said I simply wasn't part of the equation. I wasn't part of the equation until she she was going to marry me and couldn't start a marriage with secrets between us."

 

The beauty of the sanctuary in St. Thomas' awed them all and the rehearsal went, in Father Helmsworth's words, "tickety-boo," which Mac told Sloan meant off with out a hitch. Tessa insisted that she wanted to walk down the aisle alone rather than holding Sloan's hand, and after being reminded several times to slow down, did a great job at the rehearsal. Her grandmother told her that the next day when there would be lots of people in the pews, she should just keep her eyes up and on the front of the church when she walked. "Okay," Tess replied, "I'll just walk up to Uncle Will . . . really slowly." The processional would be led by Jim with Mac's mother on his arm (he'd jumped nervously when Dickie had said, "alright when the organist switches music, you begin, Mr. Harper, to escort Her Ladyship down the aisle and to her seat.") Next came Tessa (whom Dickie kept calling "Lady Tessa," until Mac threatened to strangle him with his own vestments if he used the child's title one more time), then Sloan and finally, MacKenzie and her father. 

Charlie was standing up for Will as Best Man, and Mac watched from the back of the church as they emerged from a side door and took their places at the alter. She loved them both so much in that moment that it hurt. Leona read the Old Testament Lesson from the Song of Solomon, which she had obviously been practicing. Rosemary read I Corinthians 13, choking up while describing the attributes of love, and promising not to be overcome with emotion the following afternoon. Dickie, Will and Mac worked out where in the service to put the personal vows that they had written and both declined to rehearse them, telling everyone they would just have to be surprised the next day. 

Then, after one more practice run down the aisle, they all adjourned to a private dining room in La Bernardin for dinner. Mac announced that she was not going to drink because she wanted to be completely clear headed for the next day. Although a few people, including Sloan, looked at her skeptically and reminded her that it was an afternoon wedding so she'd have plenty of time to recover, both Vanessa and Rosemary endorsed her idea as "very sensible." Will then said, he'd join her sobriety movement after one glass of the bubbly. The food was excellent and the company congenial. The staff toasts turned into something of a roast, and included multiple descriptions of Will being gobsmacked upon seeing Mac for the first time in the bull pen. 

"Get it all out of your system tonight," Mac had kidded them, "tomorrow's reception is going to be quite the formal affair."

The highlight of the evening was an impromptu performance of "Get Me To The Church on Time by Will, Ted and Charlie." Will had been headed back to his place at the table from a bathroom break, when Jim had started to play the song on his guitar, and had broken into song and dance. Then, in the middle of the second verse, Will had grabbed Ted McHale, saying, "Come on, you're the Stanley Holloway fan, get up here and help me out." When Mac's father stood up, she leaned over to Charlie and whispered, "go on, you're his father. Make it the groom and the two dads." When Charlie walked up to them, Will called out to Jim to take it from the top and the three men did a rousing version of the song while dancing a respectable soft-shoe. 

 

It was after midnight when Sloan and MacKenzie checked into their suite at the Plaza. Even without the help of alcohol, Mac was exhausted. "I hope you didn't have anything more planned for tonight," she said with an apologetic smile, "cause I'm knackered." 

"You're not going to start talking like Dickie, are you? We'd better get this wedding over with before you start saying, pip pip and cherrio. No, nothing planned. Especially with you staying sober as a judge. Looks like it will have to be just sleeping." Sloan giggled. "Seriously, everything I've got planned is for tomorrow. I'll get you up early."

When Mac emerged from the bathroom and climbed into one of the two queen sized beds, Sloan came over and made a great show of tucking her in. "This is just so great . . . So right. You and Will were so happy tonight, Kenz. Did you see the way he looked at you when you were sitting there with Tessa asleep on your lap? I want someone to look at me that way someday."

"He already does, Sloan," Mac murmured sleepily. "You and Don won't be far behind, little sister. See you in the morning . . . ."


	22. Wedding Day

As the sun set in the sky, and the stained glass in the windows darkened, Father Helmsworth's voice filled the church, "The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children and their nurture . . . . ." Will and MacKenzie looked deeply into each other's eyes and smiled. They had, Will thought, all of those things. He was certainly joined to MacKenzie in heart, body and mind, and she to him. She gave him joy, help and comfort, and told him he did the same for her. And they had created a child together that they would, already did, love and nurture. He was truly the most fortunate man on Earth. 

 

MacKenzie's Wedding Day started as it seemed all her days did now, lying in bed fighting the sickness and praying it would pass. When it was clear there was no help for it, she gave in and staggered to the bathroom. Sloan was a heavy sleeper and Mac probably would have gotten away with it if Will hadn't rung the cell phone that she had left on the night table between the beds. Through the thin bathroom door, she could hear Sloan's sleepy voice speaking, the sound of her shuffling feet and then the knock at the door.

"Kenz, it's Will. Just wants to say, good morning."

Damn him, Mac thought uncharitably. She'd intended to answer Sloan but nature had other ideas.

"Kenz, are you okay in there?" Sloan called. Then Will had obviously said something into her ear since Mac could hear Sloan talking into the phone. After a couple of minutes, Sloan called out to her again, "he says to call him later. Are you okay? Can you talk?" Then after a considerable pause, "Kenzie . . . I'm coming in." With that, Sloan pushed open the bathroom door, and stopping dead in her tracks, said simply, "oh."

"I'm okay," Mac managed to say. "I'll be out in a minute. Would you see if there is any bottled water in the minibar? Thanks." When Sloan returned with the water, Mac was rinsing out her mouth and wiping her face with a washcloth. She looked pale to Sloan, but otherwise alright. She took the bottle, unscrewed the cap and drank a long slow sip. 

"Kenz, what's going on?" Sloan asked as Mac walked past her to sit on the side of the bed.

"Oh, just a bit of an upset stomach. Probably, just pre-wedding jitters."

"Pre-wedding jitters? With Will? You've been married to Will for years. Ever notice the way he hands you his wallet when you need money? It was Neal who first pointed it out to me, but he's right, it's such a married gesture. So, no," Sloan said, narrowing her eyes, "I don't buy it that you are nervous about marrying Will."

"How about flu?" MacKenzie sighed, "can I sell you on a stomach flu?"

"What are you talking about?"

MacKenzie smiled. "Nothing. And, really, I'm feeling better. Let's get going on our day." Stupidly, she jumped up too rapidly as a demonstration of fitness and good health, and had to sit down again quickly until the lightheadedness passed.

Suspicion now mingled with dawning comprehension in Sloan's eyes. "Wait a minute, when I told Will that you were in the bathroom and it sounded like you were being sick, he just said not to bother you, and hung up. There's no way Will would not have been concerned and stayed on the line unless he knew why already." She looked down at Mac as a huge smile began to spread across her face.

"What?" Mac tried to sound nonchalant, but she could feel her mouth almost involuntarily being pulled into an expression that mirrored Sloan's.

"You're sick but Will's not worried. No booze last night. When you guys go out with the gang, you order one drink that you're fucking not drinking cause Will is. Tea now, usually herbal, not coffee, at the rundowns. MacKenzie! Mac?"

"About seven weeks."

"Oh, my God!" Sloan knocked Mac down on the bed as she leapt into her arms. They hugged and kissed, as Sloan kept repeating, "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it. Election Day you were resigning and now you guys are making a family." Then, stopping, as she did the mental math, she scrutinized Mac carefully, "seven weeks? You got pregnant the first time?"

"Well, the first time or two, or I should say the first day or two most likely."

"Getting nailed more than once a day, are we?" Mac was actually blushing. "Did you guys plan this?"

"Did we plan this? God, Sloan, who planned anything? One moment Will's fired me, and a few hours later we're engaged to be married and screwing our brains out."

"Wait! Will fired you?" 

Mac nodded. "I goaded him into it."

"When? How? Oh, never mind. The baby's much more interesting. I guess you don't know if it's a boy or girl, yet."

"I'm not sure if it is a boy or girl yet. It's barely big enough to see with the naked eye and I think it's still a bit reptilian, but it is developing a heart right, now. Isn't that the coolest thing, Sloan? It's going to have a heart beat soon." Mac sighed. "I wasn't going to tell anyone for a few more weeks until we got through the genetic testing and past the point where early miscarriages occur. I can't imagine how Will could cope with something going wrong, and I didn't want to have to do that publicly and all."

"Nothing's going to go wrong!" Sloan declared. "Everything is going to be fine, Kenz," she repeated, squeezing Mac's hand, running through all of Will's behavior over the last few weeks in her head and silently agreeing that he would be beyond devastated if the baby were lost or seriously impaired. 

"I know. As long as I stay away from golf courses."

"Uh?"

"Oh, an inside joke. My doctor told us that the odds of a genetic defect are roughly the same as being struck by lightening on a golf course. So, whenever either of us gets nervous about it, the other says that we'll be alright as long as we stay away from golf courses." Sloan smiled at the tiny slice of Will and Mac's married life, and how easily they had become an "us," had always been an "us," really.

 

As Sloan pushed the room service table with the breakfast dishes out into the hall, her cell phone buzzed with a text that the car Leona had sent was downstairs. So, off they went. They had one final fitting on their dresses, and Mac's veil, which were then be sent back to the Plaza. That was followed by a quick trip to Agent Provocateur, where Mac was instructed by Sloan that she was not permitted to see any price tags and her only mission was to pick out lingerie for the wedding and honeymoon that would make Will yowl. After that, Sloan took her back to the Plaza for a light lunch and a full treatment (during which Mac fell asleep) at the Caudalie Spa. Then, it was back to their suite where Gustavo, Leona's personal hair stylist, and Cheryl from ACN did their hair and makeup. 

Sometime around 2:30, Leona and Margaret arrived, having spent a few hours at Elizabeth Arden. Margaret gave Mac a box from Tiffiany's which she opened as Sloan emerged from the bedroom in her Maid of Honor dress. "Wow!" Mac exclaimed, "I hope someone's going to have smelling salts handy for when Don sees you."

"Smelling salts," scoffed Leona, "more like a taser or a choke chain, I'd say." Sloan actually blushed. 

"Come here, my friend," commanded Mac as she took a diamond necklace out of the Tiffany's box and held it up. "Let me put this on you."

"Oh, my God!" Sloan breathed, "are you lending that to me?"

"No, silly. I'm giving it to you. Your Maid of Honor gift."

"Kenzie! You can't! It must have cost a fortune!"

"I can and I am. I only intend to have one Maid of Honor in this lifetime. Besides, I'm marrying a very wealthy man who's refused to have a pre-nup." Mac smiled teasingly. "Ah, yes. Just as I thought. It's so you, Sloan," she continued as Sloan raced off to have a look in the mirror.

"This is exquisite, Kenz. But isn't it going to upstage the bride?"

"Not bloody likely," Leona said, gesturing to a well-worn leather train case sitting on the table. "You haven't seen the Ailesbury family jewels." 

This statement cracked Mac up, which caused Margaret to elbow Leona in the ribs and say, "well, I certainly hope not." 

All of the laughing stopped when Margaret opened the case, explaining that she didn't know what Mac would want to wear so she brought a selection. "Jesus," Sloan intoned, examining the contents of the case, "shouldn't we have a Pinkerton's guard in here? Is that a tiara?

"My grandmother's; right, Mummy?" Mac asked taking it slowly from the box. 

"Yes, that was Gran's. She wore it to Princess Elizabeth's wedding and to her coronation too. I wore it when I married your father, and to Diana's wedding to the Prince of Wales; not great karma there, but maybe it was redeemed by going to Will's and Kate's. They seem blissfully happy. It would be wonderful if you could wear it, Mackie, to marry your prince. Get your veil, darling. Let's see if it will work." It worked perfectly. And, although ordinarily tiaras weren't her thing, Mac smiled to see how pleased her mother was to see it on her head. Mac also selected a diamond necklace and matching earrings that were over 200 years old and had been worn by one of her ancestors to Victoria's wedding to Albert or some other occasion that had left Sloan speechless. 

When Mac was dressed, with her veil and tiara tucked away in a bag, Margaret produced two beautiful floor length cloaks to cover Mac's and Sloan's dresses. "I feel like a princess," Sloan declared, twirling around in hers, "and God knows, Kenzie, you look like one. I suppose," she giggled, "that Dickie would say that breeding tells." 

 

When Will entered the flower and candle filled sanctuary and walked to his place at the alter with Charlie by his side, he felt like he had been transported back to Victorian England. Perhaps it was wearing white tie, he mused, but he felt like an actor on a foreign stage. Except that every one he knew was there. All of his family were smiling at him, along with Mac's brothers, now seated with their ushering duties concluded, and Vanessa with little Teddy in a smocked romper that his father and grandfather had once worn. There was the contingent of Mac's school and university friends and their families. There were long time McHale family staff like Nanny and Emma, the cook at Ailesbury Hall in Surrey, who adored MacKenzie like a daughter, and had taken a shine to Will when he'd visited years ago. He spotted Charlie's family, Maggie, Neal, Kendra, Tess and the rest of the News Night staff, Don, of course, Elliot and his family, even the new intern, Sorority Girl (he suddenly drew a blank on her name; well, no need to tell that to Mac). He saw Rebecca and her date, his college roommate and his new wife (second or third, Will couldn't remember), a number of guys with whom he played baseball in college, and other friends like Bob Cohen, with whom he used to write speeches for Bush I, Lonny and Lorraine, and Jake Habib sitting with a beautiful young woman who Will assumed was his date. Reese sat with the Rockette and Leona, who was looking at Charlie with a particular kind of longing that Will recalled well. Will wondered again just what had happened there so long ago. 

The media contingent, including Dan Rather, Wolf Blitzer, Anderson Cooper, Diane Sawyer, Brian Williams and many others, was out in force. Then, there was the political contingent, Joe Biden, with his Secret Service attachment, the Mayor and Governor, and a slew of former members of the diplomatic corps, including former Secretaries of State, George Schultz, with his stunning wife, Charlotte, Colin Powell and Madeline Albright, all there to see Ted McHale's daughter, Mackie, get married. All had been sworn to secrecy by Leona Lansing. Will surmised that it just might be the most high profile stealth wedding ever, a fact that he knew appealed to Lady MacKenzie's sense of privacy and just plain tickled her no end. Sometimes, he had to agree with Lonny, and question just what a classy blue blood like Mac, whose lineage went back 600 years, saw in a Nebraska lowlife like him. What was she doing marrying him, he thought. And then he heard her voice answer in his ear, "being happy, Billy. Having what I want, you idiot."

Then the music shifted and the church fell silent as everyone sat up straighter and tension crackled the air. Will felt his stomach muscles contract with an excitement that was almost sexual. Charlie reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder, and when Will turned to look at him, the older man was standing ramrod stiff and beaming a smile that could light up the world. Jim Harper, in white tie and tails, appeared at the rear of the church with MacKenzie's mother, looking every inch the Countess of Ailesbury, on his arm. Her dress, a light cream silk with a misty blue translucent fabric over it, showed off her still shapely figure, which reminded Will that she was not that much older than he. In fact, he was almost the same number of years older than her daughter. (No need to go there, he reminded himself.) Jim and Lady McHale walked slowly toward the front of the church and as they reached one of the empty seats in the front pew, Margaret gave Will a wink and a reassuring smile.

Next, to an accompaniment of ohs, ahas and murmurs, came Tessa, wearing a gold ballerina necklace that her Aunt Mackie had given her as they waited in the hall against the bodice of her edgy but still traditional Flower Girl dress. She was carrying a basket of cut flowers from which she occasionally gathered up a handful and dropped them along the white satin runner that had been spread down the center aisle of the church. It has been Mac's idea to give her something to do, both to slow her down and to keep her mind occupied to minimize the stage fright of walking in front of so many strangers. It was, Will mused, watching Tessa, one of those intuitive aspects of MacKenzie that made him sure she would be a fantastic mother. 

The organist began the processional again and Sloan appeared. She was absolutely gorgeous and would be roundly teased at the reception by the Brits in attendance for trying to copy Pippa Middleton and upstage the bride. She carried a simple bouquet and wore no jewelry except diamond stud earrings and a chain of platinum and diamonds that was looped twice around her neck. Her eyes shown with unshed tears as she walked down the aisle with them fixed on Will, her surrogate big brother. Only at the last minute, did she turn her head and make eye contact with Don, who by then had managed to close his mouth.

The music shifted once again and Will raised his eyes to the back of the church. Sir Edward McHale, Earl Ailesbury, Knight Commander of the Order of St. Michael and St. George, former Ambassador to the United Nations, bemedaled in white tie and red and blue sash, stood in the sanctuary doorway of St. Thomas's Episcopal Church. It was 28 December 2012, at 4:27 PM, and he was preparing to escort his only daughter down the aisle to marry William Duncan McAvoy, one of the brightest, most ethical and sweetest men McHale had ever encountered. Sir Edward's eyes fell on Charlie Skinner, next to Will, and for an instant, he was transported back to Landstuhl, Germany, and a night at the U.S. air base almost four years ago when Charlie had landed alone and explained that he had prevented Will from coming. Ted, who had been listening for two days to Mackie calling repeatedly for Billy when she wasn't sedated beyond speech, had broken down and cried in Charlie's arms. Charlie had explained that "both the kids" were in bad shape and he just couldn't shake the feeling that seeing Will right then could be more harmful than beneficial to Mac. Charlie had spent the night at MacKenzie's bedside repeatedly telling her stabbed, drugged and unconscious body that Will loved her and needed her to come back to him. That Will would not long survive in a world without her. That he, Charlie, would loose both of them if she died and he wasn't about to stand for it, so she'd damn well better get the fuck up and get going. 

Then MacKenzie appeared in the doorway, her father's thoughts returned to the present, and a hush fell over the assembled guests. Will felt his heart stop, and he heard Charlie breathe, "oh," ever so softly as they saw her. The modern edge of the Stella McCartney gown was blended seamlessly with a traditional veil now covering her face. She wore a priceless family tiara and the kind of necklace and earrings that most celebrities rent from a jeweler. Will thought that it was MacKenzie McHale personified in her wedding attire -- truly egalitarian even for an American, compassionate in a manner born of noblesse oblige, foul mouthed as anyone in the newsroom if she wanted to be, and taken to have tea with the Queen when she was eight. He watched her body move down the aisle as she came towards him. God could not have created a more perfect or beautiful body, he thought. Kenz! His MacKenzie. His wife. The mother of his child . . . of his children.

When they got to the alter rail, they stopped and Mac turned to her father. Lord McHale lifted her veil and carefully folded it back and secured it on the tiara as he had watched Margaret's father do all those years ago. He leaned forward and kissed his daughter on the cheek, and whispered, "your mother and I are thrilled for you. He loves you, Mackie. You'll make a happy family." Then he took Mac's right hand and gave it to Will.

Father Helmsworth began, "Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God and this company to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people. . . . "

". . . Into this holy union MacKenzie Morgan and William Duncan now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else forever hold your peace." Mac smiled quietly as she wondered if anyone had ever stood up and shouted out a reason in real life. Then, Dickie looked at Will and Mac and said solemnly, "I require and charge you both, here in the presence of God, that if either of you know any reason why you may not be united in marriage lawfully, and in accordance with God's Word, you do now confess it."

After a moment of silence, Dickie turned to Mac, "MacKenzie, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Mac looked directly into Will's eyes, then turned to the priest and answered, "I will."

"William, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

Will raised Mac's hand to his lips, grazed her knuckles with a light kiss and said, "I will."

The priest then raised his eyes to the congregation and asked, "Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?" To which, everyone responded, "We will," with Tessa's reedy little voice somehow rising above the rest. 

After the reading of the lessons and gospel, by Leona, Tom McHale and Rosemary (who true to her word, read in a beautiful modulated and unwavering voice), Will and MacKenzie exchanged their vows. First, Will angling his body toward Mac and holding both of her hands said, "In the Name of God, I, William Duncan, take you, MacKenzie Morgan, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. Kenz, I will never ever hurt you again." Mac drew in a sharp breath when she heard him repeat the words with which he had proposed. "I will never again turn from you when you call to me or refuse to hear you when you ask me to listen." Now Mac's eyes filled with tears. "I will always trust in your love for me. I will be a kind and caring father to your children. And, I will never even think about taking you out of my ear while we're on the air." This last drew some baffled looks and many chuckles depending on the occupations of the guests. "This is my solemn vow," Will concluded, and separated his hands from hers.

Then Mac reached for Will's right hand with hers, and holding it looked into his eyes and said, "In the Name of God, I, MacKenzie Morgan, take you, William Duncan, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. I will never betray you. I will never run from you again or fail to share with you what I'm thinking or feeling or anything that's happened to me. I will be a kind and caring mother to your children. I will love you for the rest of my life. This is my solemn vow."

Then Charlie produced the rings from his waistcoat pocket and handed them to Dickie, who recited, "Bless, O Lord, these rings to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." He handed the band of diamonds to Will, who took up Mac's left hand, and sliding on the ring, said, "MacKenzie, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." 

Then Dickie handed Will's ring to Mac, who taking Will's left hand, slid it on, saying, "Will, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of God." Father Helmsworth then joined Mac's and Will's right hands and held them aloft, saying, "Now that MacKenzie and William have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder." A sentiment that was met by a rousing, "amen." 

There were more prayers and hymns and benedictions, but Mac and Will hardly heard them. They were lost in holding onto to each other and in the idea that after so long, after so much, they had made it. They were Mr. and Mrs. McAvoy. Finally, after a kiss that was probably unseemly for the alter at St. Thomas', the organist began to play the recessional, and they were walking arm and arm up the aisle, smiling and laughing, with Sloan and Charlie behind them hand in hand with a wiggling and jumping Tessa. 

 

The reception was held at Gotham Hall under cover of being an AWM holiday party. The first two hours were rather traditional, with food and cake and dances by the bride and groom, the bride and her father, the groom and his new mother-in-law, Charlie, as the groom's surrogate father with the bride, then the bride and groom with various siblings and friends.

Then, after everyone had ballroom danced for a while, Jim snuck off to get his guitar and disappeared behind a curtain in the corner of the ballroom, from which shuffling could be heard. The dance floor was cleared and a call went out for Mr. and Mrs. McAvoy to please take the floor. As they walked up, a keyboardist began to play the opening bars of one of Will's favorite songs, "Walk of Life," by Dire Straits. As the guitar and drums came in, Will and Mac started to do a kind of walking two-step around the edge of the crowd surrounding the dance floor. Then, as the sound of "woo hoo" filled the room, Will's head jerked up just in time to see the curtain pulled back to reveal Mark Knopfler playing with Jim on back up and a drummer and keyboardist. Knopfler raised a finger to his brow in salute to Will and Mac, who then took to the center of the dance floor and gestured for others to join them in their Walk of Life.

After that, Knopfler (another present from Leona) gave an impromptu concert while most of the younger guests danced. Then, Will borrowed Jim's guitar and he and Mark serenaded MacKenzie with a duet of "Lady Writer (on the TV)" to which Mac danced alone with Tessa. When Knopfler left it to Will to sing solo the line, "Just the way that her hair fell down around her face, then I recall my fall from grace," it brought down the house. 

 

"Mackie's exhausted," Ted McHale observed to his wife when they returned to their table after the song.

"Actually, all things considered, she's holding up extraordinarily well."

"Do you think someone should suggest to William that it's time to consider that particular thing and start moving his wife toward a departure?

"I suppose. Have you given them their gift yet?"

"No." Lord McHale said, tapping his inside pocket. I'll go and find them."

He found them making out in an alcove around the corner from the ballroom. "You are aware," he said sonorously, and got great enjoyment out of watching them jump apart guiltily, "that there are these marvelous new inventions called beds, where you two could keep doing that in greater comfort."

"My God! Daddy! You gave me a fright," Mac said with her hand to her heart. Will chuckled.

"Sorry, darling. Actually, though, it seems to be getting on to time for the bride and the groom to make their exit. As you know, protocol requires that the rest of the guests not depart until you two have taken your leave and some of us old folks are quite worn out." He looked directly at Will when he said "worn out." 

Will nodded. "Yes, Kenz and I were just talking about blowing this joint."

"Well, before you go, I wanted to give you, Margaret's and my wedding gift. Now, I want you two to know that if it doesn't suit, you should have no compunction about selling it. It will not hurt our feelings one iota." With that he reached into his pocket and offered a white envelope in their direction. Will opened it and removed the document. Mac looked a little confused, but Will recognized it immediately as a quit claim deed, transferring title to the McHale brownstone to "William McAvoy and MacKenzie McHale McAvoy, a married couple."

"The house, sir? You're giving us the house?

"Really, Daddy?" Mac broke in, and rushed up to hug him.

"Well," he said, patting her on the back. "Your mother and I won't be raising any more children there, and it's a great family home. Just a block off the part of the park with a playground, if you recall. Perfect for a child. And as I say, if you don't want to live there . . . "

"No!" both Will and Mac said nearly in unison.

"I'm just overwhelmed . . . speechless," Will stuttered, "I . . . I . . . don't know what to say."

"Thanks, Dad, would suffice," Ted replied, giving Will a hug.

"Thanks, Dad," Will repeated.

"Yes, thanks, Dad," Mac echoed. "You are the best!"

 

After Will and Mac changed into the clothes they had each packed that morning and turned over to one of Leona's minions, and Mac packed up her wedding dress, cloak and Will's tux for delivery to their apartment, they made the rounds of the tables in the ballroom, saying their good-byes. When they got to Mac's parents, they thanked them again for the house, with both Mac and Will hugging and kissing Margaret. They would be seeing some of the guests at a late "family" brunch the next day at Trump Tower where they were going to spend the night. When they had realized that they couldn't check into a hotel without creating a security risk for the stealth wedding, Will and Mac had both said that they would just go home to Will's apartment. But Leona, wedding planner extraordinaire, wouldn't hear of it, and had called The Donald who graciously offered his private suite at the Tower. Armed with the access codes, they would not have to check in, and the suite had the added advantage of a private elevator directly from an underground garage.

 

By the time they got up to the Trump suite, MacKenzie was so tired she was practically comatose. She changed into an $1100 silk nightgown that was part of her wedding present shopping spree from Don and Sloan, and walked out of the bathroom and wrapped her arms around Will. He kissed her and then looking at her drooping eyelids, scooped her up and carried her to the bed. 

"Sleep, Kenz. You're pregnant. You need to sleep." He tucked her in and shedding his clothes, climbed in beside her and cradled her against him. 

"No," she moaned, "this is our wedding night."

"MacKenzie, look at me." She could barely hold her eyes open. "You're pregnant. You're exhausted. You need to sleep." He kissed her hair and forehead. 

"I stayed awake on Election Day night and I hadn't slept in ages then. I slept well last night."

"You weren't pregnant on Election night."

"We have to consummate the marriage otherwise it's not legal or something."

"Oh, have no doubt, we'll be consummating this marriage. First thing tomorrow morning."

"You can't get an annulment before then," she murmured sleepily. "Promise."

"Promise." God! He loved her. "Kenz?"

"Umm?"

"Do you remember our first time?"

"The Peabody Awards dinner."

He chuckled. "Yes, all those months of lunches and dinners that got me nothing but a chaste kiss or two. Then, give this girl a Peabody and she turns into a sex kitten. God, you looked beautiful that night."

"That was the . . . first time." She was drifting and her speech was slurring.

"I know. That's what we're talking about."

"No . . . I mean . . . my first . . . time . . . ."

"What?" Now he was really confused.

"Or . . gasm." And with that, she was asleep.

Will kissed her eyelids, and settled down beside his wife. Well, what do you know?


	23. Consummation

She awoke slowly to lips teasing sensation from her throat and moving down to where the soft silk covered her breast. She felt a hand caressing her thigh and moving over her stomach. Desire kindled in her belly and arousal heighten her senses. Her eyes remained shut, but she brought her hands up to find him and touch his hair, as he slipped the strap of her nightgown aside to run his lips along the line of her shoulder. "Billy," she breathed softly. 

"Umm," he said, sucking and licking her shoulder. God! He loved the taste of her skin. He would never get enough of it if he lived to be a hundred. He lowered the top of the gown to expose one perfect breast, now slightly fuller than before she got pregnant. As gently as he could, he lowered his lips to the nipple and teased it taunt. She moaned and arched her back as his tongue traced circles around it and then moaned again as he suckled and squeezed as hard as he dared. Since she seemed to be enjoying it, he pushed the gown down further and did the same to her other breast. He was rewarded by her body shuddering and bucking slightly.

"What was that?" he chuckled, with his lips now against the swell of her breast.

"Don't . . . know . . . " Her breathing was coming in gasps. 

"Does that count as one?" Will was determined to break his record for giving MacKenzie orgasms, especially after her disclosure the night before that he had given her the first. The only problem was he had no idea what the record was. Oh, well, he thought, he'd just keep going until either she or he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Don't know . . . Can't . . . think."

He continued pushing the loose silk gown down her body, exposing her stomach. Still flat, he thought and wondered when it would start to become round with their baby. He kissed and sucked and licked his way down, caressing her scar and the line of her torso. She moaned and fisted her hands in his hair. Finally, he slid the gown over her hips and kissed the creases where each leg met her body, before moving his lips to send her repeatedly up and over the edge into ecstasy. At some point, he realized that she didn't seem to be having morning sickness and decided to conduct his own experiment by waking her up like this more often, starting with every morning on their honeymoon.

He moved down her legs, nipping at the soft flesh inside her thighs and behind her knees, and finally kissing her ankles and the tops of her feet. He loved her legs. They were so long, so beautiful. He knew that she minded that her torso seemed short in proportion to her legs, but he didn't. He was a leg man. To him, she was perfection. He brought his body back up to where he could kiss her lips again, sliding along her and pressing his erection against her thigh. She reached for him, but he gently took her hand away saying, "Not yet. I won't hold out if you touch me, and I'm not nearly done with you." She only moaned in reply. 

Slowly, gently, he slid his fingers between her legs into her warm, wet folds. His wife, he thought. His MacKenzie, who had vowed before God and practically everybody that had ever mattered to either one of them to be his alone for as long as she lived. Again and again he used his hands to pleasure her almost beyond endurance. Until she gasped out, "stop, Billy. I can't . . . I can't . . . " But she could. Finally, ignoring his warning, she grasped him, stroked and positioned him, moaning, "please, please . . . Now. I want you now. . . Now . . . I'm begging."

Gently, ever so gently, he slid into her. Every time, he thought, every time was as much of a miracle as the first. He would never stop wanting her, needing her like air. "I need you to live," he said aloud, without realizing that he was speaking. "I need you, Kenz. I need you so much." Then his senses were consumed with the sensation of flesh on flesh, liquid smooth and exquisitely intense. He felt Mac's hips moving under him, rhythmically in tune with his motions. With a sound that was half moan, half scream, she angled her body so that she drew him further in, so that his thrusts were deeper, deeper it seemed than he had ever been before. His movements became faster and faster as his control reached the breaking point.

Then, she opened her eyes and looked into his. "I . . . love . . . you . . . Billy . . . Billy . . . Hard . . . Now . . . Come . . . Now . . . ." She arched against him, and as he felt her muscles spasm around him, he released himself deep inside his wife.

 

"There," he said kissing her again, "all legal, and I'm a lawyer; I know about these things. Feel better?"

"Much," she joked back. "Quite relieved, actually."

As they lay tangled in each other's arms while their breathing slowed, he couldn't resist asking if she remembered what they had been talking about when they fell asleep the night before.

She thought a moment, her brows furrowing in a way that made him melt. "Not really," she finally confessed.

"I asked you if you remembered the first time I made love to you."

"After the Peabody."

"You told me that it was the first time you had an orgasm."

"I did?" She sat up and looked at him with a slightly bemused but shocked expression.

"Yes. Why? Wasn't it true?" He could feel a ridiculous disappointment flow over him. What did it matter, he asked himself.

"Of course, it's true. It's just that I never really planned on sharing that." She settled back down in his arms.

"You just vowed to share everything," he teased, kissing her and trying not to focus on the relief he felt. "So, you never had an orgasm before that night?"

God! She thought, he's really getting off on this. More than that, she could tell that it was adding to his still fragile (maybe always fragile) sense of security. "Yes. Or no. Or, you know what I mean." She kissed him, feeling his lips twist into a smile under hers. "Like that, do you, Billy?" She kissed him again, a signal that he didn't need to answer. "Well, Hef," she said, "unlike some, I really haven't been with that many partners, if you must know. I didn't have my first serious boyfriend until university. He was sweet, but, I don't know, there's something about public school . . . It's not the hotbed of homosexuality that's portrayed in cinema, but a lot of them still come out thinking that a good seduction line is asking if you fancy a spot of the old rumpy-pumpy." She would rue the day she introduced Will to the phrase "rumpy-pumpy." "After that, there was kind of a long dry spell." She stopped, knowing where the conversation was going next, and dreading it.

"Brenner?" Will tried to keep his voice as neutral as he could.

"Brian was a selfish prick, who wanted a vessel to jerk off into." Will eyes widened, shocked at the vehemence in her voice. She sighed. "I don't know what I was doing with Brian except damn near ruining my life. He was so superior. He knew everything about journalism, and I was some lowly person he graced with his presence. I'd never known anyone who'd acted that superior toward me." No, Will thought to himself, I don't imagine you ever did, Your Ladyship. His mind filled with the sight of her walking to him on her father's arm. Mac, the American, was in there somewhere, but he was pretty sure that the woman he had taken for his wife was Lady MacKenzie of Ailesbury.

He brought his mind back, aware that she was still talking. ". . . I guess that sort of quasi-abusive manner attracted me in some sick way . . . Flattered me that he paid attention to me. Jesus. I was an idiot! He wasn't much of a lover. He was rough . . . . "

"He hurt you?" Will interrupted, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"No, not really. He just never cared about whether I was . . . " She trailed off. "And he never liked . . . ". Suddenly, she was shy. Her chin dropped and she lowered her eyes. " . . . using his mouth," she said quietly. Then, after a pause, she looked up again. "And then, other than you, there was . . . Wade. I don't know how you did it, Hef. Really, my hat goes off to you performing with all those women. I certainly made a royal dog's dinner out of my big foray into moving on." She winced and shook her head as if clearing out cobwebs. "No, a genuine orgasm wasn't in the cards with poor Wade. No wonder he ended up so fond of me," she observed, chuckling ironically. "I could barely stand his hands on me for two minutes. I had gotten good at keeping myself awake, but not that good, so despite his repeated requests, I wouldn't go away with him or even spend the night."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed, disbelieving the question. "What, let him hold me while I screamed for Billy? I think that that would have been an even more disastrous way to have introduced him to the truth than letting him watch us tear our hearts out on New Year's Eve."

He remembered. Remembered sitting in his office desk chair, eyes closed, letting waves of pain and loss and jealousy wash over him. Suddenly, he got a flash of memory. It was Mac's face as she had closed the door. It wasn't the face he had seen at the time, no, not seen, fucking imagined! It wasn't the face of a woman about to run happily back to the arms of her lover. It was the face . . . "Oh, God!" he said aloud. It was the face of a woman who expected before dawn to be frightened and calling in vain for the man she loved. The dreams must have gotten worse, he realized, after she returned to NewsNight -- returned to him. He wanted to ask, but let her continue.

"I had . . . before you, and with Wade . . . I mean . . . experienced, I don't know, little pops of release from sex. I can do that to myself. But I've never been overwhelmed by it, or felt like my body was turning itself inside out, or that I couldn't think or breathe except with you." She looked up at him. "That first time with you . . . No one had ever touched me or worshiped me the way you did. My God, Will, you kissed my feet! Do you remember? And then, your mouth. I felt so wanton and demanding, pushing myself against you, but I couldn't stop." She laughed. He had started playing with her hair while she spoke. Twisting it around his fingers, letting it drop through them and then twisting again. "I remember thinking that it was worth the risk that you wouldn't date me again because you would think I was a slut or . . . ."

He laughed and cupped her face in both hands. "Think you were a slut, MacKenzie! God, I thought you were the most magnificent, marvelous, incredible creature who ever drew breath. I thought I would never get enough of touching you. I thought. . . think . . . you have the most beautiful body I have ever seen," Will said, caressing her arms and shoulders.

"Seriously? I know you love me, Billy, but really? You've slept with Erin Andrews for Christ's sake!" 

"Yes. She has a good body. She should for as hard as she works at it. But . . . I don't know . . . Her legs aren't anything special and her breasts always seemed fake to me. I'm sure she's had work done. I couldn't find any but I looked for scars . . . "

"You looked for plastic surgery scars on Erin's breasts while you were making love to the woman?" Mac interrupted. Will looked up from where he had been rubbing light circles with his fingertips on her shoulders to see a look of amused horror, or perhaps, horrified amusement on his wife's face.

"She was asleep," he said. "And, Kenz, I never made love to Erin Andrews. I fucked Erin Andrews and the gun toting crazy woman and the cheerleader and God knows how many others, but I never made love to them . . . Any of them."

"Not even Nina?" As soon as it was out of her mouth, Mac wished disparately that she could take it back. Nina was a subject, a name, that like Brian Brenner was usually off-limits by some unspoken gentlemen's agreement. Will had hurt her with Nina, deeply hurt her, and he knew it. It was not a discussion for their honeymoon, for fifteen minutes after they had finished consummating their marriage, for an hour before they had to get ready and meet family and friends for brunch. But there it was.

"Nina Howard." He sighed. "I feel worse about her than the rest. I feel worse for what it did to you, and worse for what it did to her, but no, I never made love to Nina, either. I don't know what the fuck I was doing with Nina Howard."

"Cheating on me," MacKenzie said matter-of-factly. "She always felt that way. None of the others did, but she always did."

"Yes, I know."

"You stopped calling at night." Mac's voice cracked. She really didn't want to cry. She wanted to end this conversation, but she couldn't stop. "I missed the Nightbird. So much. It was very hard . . . knowing that you wouldn't call and I couldn't call you anymore. I'd gotten used . . . I used to call and talk about work if I woke up from . . . ." She blinked rapidly hoping to contain the tears that were welling up and threatening to fall. Suddenly she couldn't go on, couldn't finish the sentence.

So he did. ". . . from dreaming about William." She nodded, as he clutched her tighter, pressing kisses into her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been such a fool. Such an ass."

Will sat them both up, made her face him, and looked into her eyes. "MacKenzie, that night that we spent together after the Peabody award, my life cleaved into two hemispheres, MacKenzie and Not-MacKenzie. In one I was alive, in the other, I was a sleepwalker. I wasn't anchored to anything. In a way, I wasn't experiencing anything." He tenderly brushed the hair away from her face. "Everything that I did for these last six years that didn't involve you is sort of greyed out and distant for me. Being with those women, even Nina, didn't touch me. There was a condom on more than my dick," he said and got a small smile in return. 

Mac thought about what Rosemary had said about losing her brother when Mac and Will broke up; how he had seemed dead and distant and disinterested the few times they had been together, and finally how he had been after his father's funeral when he'd never mentioned Nina. She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "I believe you. I love you, Billy. 

"Since our first time, Kenz, I've never made love to anyone but you." He took her into his arms and began to kiss her again.

 

They were almost late for brunch, and if they were trying to conceal the reason, the giggling over her asking him in the elevator if he was surreptitiously popping Viagra as they walked into the private dining room didn't help. Both of their families were there and most of their close out of town friends, along with Leona, the hostess for the event. Everyone was talking about the wedding and reception, as well as politics, sports and their lives, while eating a sumptuous "English breakfast," that included, fish, sausage, bacon, potatoes, baked beans, eggs and something called black pudding.

Mac and Will were due to fly off that afternoon on an AWM jet for a short honeymoon in the West Indies on the island of Mustique, one of the few places in the world that is off limits to both press and paparazzi. The island was owned by Cody Tennant, Baron Glenconner, a personal friend and schoolmate of both Prince William and Tommy McHale, Mac's younger brother. It was a wedding gift from Julian, Vanessa and Tommy. According to Margaret, they would be staying at the same villa where the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge would be "on holiday in February" to celebrate her pregnancy. Although Will McAvoy had been making a seven figure salary for quite a few years, he found life with his blue blooded relations could be a bit of a trip down the rabbit hole. 

At brunch, Leona decided that just because Will and Mac were departing and would be gone until after New Year's Day, there was no reason for the party to die down. She invited the entire McHale - McAvoy clan to be her house guests in the Hamptons through New Year's. To Will's amazement, both of his sisters accepted, as did Ted and Margaret, Julian and Vanessa, and Tommy and his girlfriend. Will's brother had to return home to see a patient who was having a problem, but agreed that Harriet ("I have a chance to get to know Leona Lansing, Dad! Do you have any idea who she is?") could go with her aunts and cousins.

 

And so, Will and MacKenzie jetted off for four nights in a $13,000 a night villa that they were being given as a wedding present. They spent blissful days of beach walks, sex, sun, sex, warm water swims, great food, sex, pampering spa treatments, massages and more sex. The NewsNight staff was instructed by Charlie not to disturb them under pain of death, and after a day, they found that they could actually fight the temptation to constantly check email. Although they knew that when they got home, the hearing on Jerry Dantana's motion to depose Mac, the lawsuit, recovering from Genoa, the Fiscal Cliff, Tea Party Republicans and death threats would all be waiting, they were relaxed and at peace. Mac ate well and slept soundly. Even the morning sickness had backed off, and Will couldn't wait to report his "cure" to Dr. Barrington. 

 

Before they knew it, however, it was January 2nd and they were winging their way back to LaGuardia. 

"I need to tell Charlie," Mac said out of the blue as the jet started its descent into New York.

"Tell him what?" Will asked without looking up from the book he was reading.

"What do you think?" 

"Oh. Sorry. Yes. Do you want me to be there with you?" It was the only thing that he could think of to say since he couldn't say what he wanted to and tell her that she didn't have to do it.

No. I think that it needs to be just the two of us. He's going to be furious. Even from the perspective of my employer, he has a right to be angry that I didn't disclose a medical condition before he gave me an overseas assignment."

"He loves you, Kenz. That's going to be his perspective."

"I know."

 

It didn't surprise Will that he was awakened that night by the sound of her cries and an elbow in the ribs as she thrashed in the nightmare. "Kenz, baby. . . Wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm here."

It wasn't a bad one and she came out of it relatively easily. "Billy?" 

"I'm here, Kenzie. You were dreaming."

"I know. It was the dream in the park. The one where he is a little boy. But this time, it was different. He asked me to take him home. Oh, God!" She put her hands up to her face as the tears came. 

"Shush, sweetheart, shush. It's okay. I know it's hard."

It wasn't a bad one. For one thing, it was clearly a dream, not a suppressed memory. Mac calmed quickly, drying her eyes and smiling at him. He held her and rubbed her back as she fell back asleep. Then Will stayed awake thinking about what Mac had said about the child in the dream asking to be taken home. He realized that he had never thought, never asked. Where was William? What had happened to his baby's body? He found he needed to know. He needed to ask her someday. But not the morning of the day he knew she intended to talk to Charlie. God, he hoped that Charlie would take care of her. Of course Charlie would. As he had said on the plane, beyond all else, Charlie loved her. Closing his eyes, Will settled his body around his wife's and went to sleep.


	24. Another Conversation With Charlie

Will was going off the his office to work on his attack on Tea Party politics while Mac went up to see Charlie. "It will be fine," he reassured her. "He could never stay angry at you, Mac." Not after seeing the pain she's in, he thought.

"It's not that only. Thinking about telling him makes me ashamed that I was so weak and so selfish. I guess I don't want Charlie to know how badly I failed, how much I fucked up the whole thing."

"I think he's going to be thinking more about how badly I failed you, and how much I fucked up the whole thing." Will sighed. "I put it all in motion when I wouldn't listen to you, wouldn't listen the first morning and wouldn't listen when you tried to reach me for months. There's no excuse for what I did."

"So, we can agree that there's plenty of blame to go around." She kissed him. "I've got to go. Charlie's going to wonder what's keeping me. Go get those Tea Party-ers."

 

"Hey, Charlie." Charlie Skinner had just gotten the button down cutting off his call from Will when MacKenzie pushed open his door. 

He smiled brightly. "Well, hello, gorgeous," he said jumping up to give her a hug. "How's the beautiful bride?" And damn if she didn't look spectacular. Rested and sun kissed, with her dappling of freckles a bit more pronounced than usual. "Welcome back, Mrs. McAvoy!"

"Thanks." She was clearly nervous, and it was all he could do not to tell her that he knew everything and it was all okay.

"You said on the phone that you've got something to discuss with me. Not thinking of retiring and living off that rich husband of yours, are you?" he asked gesturing to one of his visitor's chairs and taking the other himself. 

That got a hint of a smile. "No. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Actually, it's about the lawsuit. I need to bring you up to speed about something that's in the Dantana complaint. It's about Afghanistan."

"Alright"

And so she began. Why she started at the very beginning, she'd never know, but she started telling him about the morning at breakfast that she had tried to tell Will about her foolish and short-lived reconciliation with Brian Brenner. ". . . before I could say anything more, he interrupted and asked if I'd slept with Brenner. I was so stupid! I answered the question. I just said yes, thinking that I'd get the opportunity to explain, to say more, to put it in context . . . I never imagined that he would think that I was sleeping with Brian then. We'd been so happy, so close, for so long by then. A year. Over a year. We'd gotten back from his sister's only a couple of months before. He said he wanted to marry me. I was so crazy about him. I'm sure I told him I loved him ten times a day." She took a deep breath. "As soon as I said yes about sex with Brian, none of that mattered. None of it. God damned John McAvoy made fucking sure of that. Will heard me say, yes, and I think that's the last thing he heard." Mac choked back tears, pulling her hand away from Charlie's grasp to wipe violently at her eyes, as if she could intimidate her tears into not falling.

"He went cold, Charlie, so . . . " She hadn't planned to do this, but she found that she simply couldn't stop. She had intended to just give him an overview to set the stage for why she'd asked for help to leave New York. But now, she needed to share this with someone who could hear it and still love Will. "His voice was flat, dead. It didn't even sound like Will. It was like he'd been possessed. He told me to remove myself, all traces of myself from his life. I remember those words so clearly, all traces . . . I hear it in my nightmares. I hear him banishing me in my nightmares." Now the tears fell. 

"Come here, Mac." Charlie stood and raising her up, wrapped his arms around her. He held her for a moment. Then, she pulled back suddenly, her hand over her mouth.

"Charlie! I need to use the loo. I don't know if I can make it . . . May I use . . . yours?" 

"Of course." She pulled away, moving toward his bathroom door. All of the color had drained out of her face and she was shaking. "Are you alright?" Charlie called as she nodded and closed the door. While Mac was inside, Charlie walked out to his assistant and told her to cancel any appointments he had before noon, and to hold all of his calls until further notice. Returning to his office, he stood for a moment in the middle of the room trying to figure out what to do next.

"Mac?" Charlie called, knocking on the door, "are you okay in there? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm okay. Could you get me a bottle of water?"

"Sure." He stuck his head out the door and made the request. As he turned around, she emerged from the bathroom, pale but composed.

"Sorry about that. Dodgy stomach." The water arrived and MacKenzie sat back down in her chair and twisted off the cap. She took a sip and then another longer one. Then, she inhaled slowly, and started speaking again. "Anyway, I tried in vain to get Will to stay and listen to me. I followed him around the apartment as he gathered up the things he was taking with him. Then, when I realized that he really was leaving . . . that there was nothing I could do . . . You see, he gave me 48 hours, I think it was, to clear out of his apartment . . . We'd basically been living together . . . And to resign from . . . " her voice broke. 

Charlie reached out and clasped her hand. 

"So," she began again, "you see, the ironic part is that I only felt the need to tell him about Brian at all because I had something really important to tell him, and I never said it . . . the important thing, that is. I never told him and I never told you." She sat up straighter and squared her shoulders in a way that squeezed Charlie's heart. Fixing him in an uncompromising look, she said, "Charlie, I was eight weeks pregnant when Will and I broke up, and I was about eighteen weeks along when I came to you and asked you to help me leave New York."

"Oh, Mac," Charlie whispered. It was worse that if he'd shouted at her. Her composure shattered. She doubled over in her chair and cried. "Shush, shush. Don't cry. MacKenzie. It's alright." He rubbed her back. "Mac, look at me. It's okay. Tell me what happened."

"Afghanistan," she choked out. Her breathing started to get rapid and ragged, which Will had told him to watch out for. Charlie took her hand, a couple fingers sliding up her wrist trying to check the speed of her pulse.

"Take a minute. Get your breath, and then we'll talk about it, okay?" He continued rubbing her back. "Mac, sweetheart, it doesn't matter. Whatever happened, it's all okay now. I love you. I love you both . . . you and Will . . . You kids are strong."

She sat up, her eyes glistening, and nodded. "Do you have a tissue?" It was such a mundane question that it made both of them smile. He retrieved a box from a desk drawer and handed it to her. 

"I cleared out of his apartment and resigned as his EP, but I didn't stop trying to get him to see me or talk to me and let me explain about what had really happened with Brian. If he let me do that, I was going to tell him about the baby. I wanted the baby, Charlie. I wanted to marry him and make a family. I left him voice messages, text messages and emails, but . . . well, you know that part." 

"Charlie, I felt like my life had ended. I remember thinking that I would never feel that bereft ever again. Little did I know, " she said almost to herself. "I don't say this as an excuse for what I did because nothing can be. But, I," she sighed, "I felt immobilized by grief and loss. I had never needed anyone the way I needed Will . . . the way I need Will," she amended. "I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to eat. My doctor told me that I was in danger of harming the baby, that I was being self destructive, but I didn't . . . couldn't find the strength to change. I started to feel like I was losing my mind. I had no job. I had no friends, really. No close friends. My whole life had been at ACN. And it was all gone."

"That's when you came to me."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" He asked it very calmly, already knowing that the answer didn't really matter, but unable to resist posing the question.

"I have asked myself that a thousand times. If I had it to do over, at least knowing what I know now about what was going on with Will, I would have told you. At the time though, or at least after I'd tried to get him to communicate with me for two months, I believed then that Will didn't care to know any of the circumstances with Brian because it didn't matter. All that mattered was that I had slept with him, and Will couldn't love someone who was not above reproach. So, I thought that he was done with me. I didn't want him to feel tied to me by responsibility to a baby. I didn't want him to feel obligated to a woman he didn't love anymore just because she'd gotten . . . I'd gotten . . . . accidentally pregnant. 

"And some of it was selfish, Charlie. I wanted Will to love me so disparately that I couldn't give up on the idea that I might get him to change his mind and see me . . . that he might want to see me because he missed me. If I'd told you I was pregnant, you'd have told him . . . You know you would have, so don't look at me like that . . . And then, I'd never know if he wanted me or if he thought that taking me back was just what he had to do to be a good father because being a good father was part of his self image. I was afraid that he'd be responsible just to prove to himself that he's different from his own father. I didn't want to be tied to a man who didn't love me.

"If I'd come back from Afghanistan, I think I'd have told you no matter what. I couldn't have just kept him, the baby, a secret forever." She looked so sad, he wanted to do something beside hold her hand, but he couldn't imagine what he could do to comfort her. "But, Charlie," she continued, once again unable to stop the tears, "now, i don't think . . . I know it wouldn't have been like that. I mean him just feeling tied to me by the baby. Now, I think that knowing we'd made a child would have helped him feel secure enough that I loved him to hear me . . . and . . . forgive me."

Charlie opened his mouth but there didn't seem to be anything to say so he just closed it again. Mac didn't seem to notice. She took a deep, shaky breath, and continued, "the worst thing is . . . that Will thinks . . . believes . . . that if I'd told you I was pregnant, William would be with us . . . he wouldn't have died . . . on a hotel room . . . floor with his . . . father never knowing . . . him." She was shaking as if she were freezing and having trouble breathing. He started to stand, as she whispered, "Charlie, hold me . . . Please . . . "

Charlie's mind was spinning. He thought he had known what happened. But, now? Did she say what he thought he'd heard? But he'd have think about that later. His first priority was MacKenzie. Charlie had seen his share of PTSD and knew that he needed to get her pulse and breathing under control. He raised her up into his arms, but her legs didn't seem to support her. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Fuck! Why didn't he have a sofa in his office? When he said that out loud, she tried to smile and told him that the floor would work just fine. He figured that if anyone saw them and reported something strange to HR, Leona would just tell HR to go fuck itself, but he walked her around beside his desk to a part of the room that was better shielded from view if someone were passing by or even put their head in his doorway. Then, they both sank gratefully to the floor. He put his back against the wall and cradled her.

"Okay, kiddo, I've got you. Just slow down. Breathe. Relax. Take a minute. Do you want me to get Will?" She shook her head violently. "Do you think you're going to black out?"

"I'm not . . . going . . . I'll be . . . okay . . . I need to tell . . . you."

"Sure, sweetheart," he rubbed her arms. "Just give yourself a minute. Don't try to talk. Here," he handed her the water bottle that he had taken from her shaking fingers a few minutes before, "take a drink." She did and then rested her head against his chest. They sat that way until he felt her heartbeat slow and her breathing become more even. "Mac, do you take anything for . . . "

"No, can't . . . I mean, no, I don't. I don't like the way Xanax and that stuff makes me feel. I've been seeing Dr. Habib since I started remembering, or I was before the wedding. I'll go back. He helps."

"Do you want a drink?" Not the best solution but he thought it might steady her some.

"No, that's okay." Thank God she sounded better. "You can get one if you like. I'll just stick to water."

He wanted a drink. No denying that, but he didn't want to get up or leave her even for a couple of minutes. After a while, and she still seemed better, he decided to press on. "Ready?" She nodded. "Okay, so I sent you to Afghanistan to do that little fluff piece, but first, you were supposed to spend a couple of weeks with Ted and Margaret."

"I went to Surrey, but I didn't . . . couldn't stay. I'd lied to them about what had happened with Will. I said that he was angry about the thing with Brian and we were having a sort of cooling off period. Wrong thing to tell a diplomat." She smiled sadly. "And, Daddy had taken so to Will, starting with their getting drunk together at a baseball game. Anyway, he kept trying to get me to call Will. He was even making up scripts for me to use to help Will get over the hurt. It was unbearable. But the real reason I left was Mummy. I was 20 or 21 weeks along by then. I was thin . . . " She was stopped by his expression, and sighed, "I know . . . I was a mess." She squeezed his hand. "Anyway, thin as I was, I was still showing by then. She was going to figure it out if I didn't get out of there quickly, and I couldn't risk that."

"Because they would find out the truth about Will's reaction?"

"That and . . . I don't know . . . I just wasn't ready to tell anyone. So, there was a diplomatic charter leaving on June 5th from Heathrow to Kabul and I got on it. I figured I'd just spend the time hanging around the hotel until it was time to meet up with the ACN crew. And that's pretty much what I did. For a few days at least . . . " She drifted off, staring into space, several thousand miles away.

"The baby came," he said gently after a minute, bringing her back to the present.

"Yes. Two days later. It started with a back ache around dinner time. I ordered room service. Didn't eat much. I called . . ." She trailed off, seeming to think better of what she was going to say. "It just got worse and worse. I did fall asleep but I woke up around two in the morning and I knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong. I was having pains that were coming in waves. I must have realized I was in labor, but I think I blocked that out some, until . . . " Another long pause. Charlie didn't push her. He was thinking about being in the delivery room when his daughters were born, watching his wife in labor. 

"Until my water broke . . . " Mac took a shuddering breath and sat up, looking at Charlie. "Then I couldn't pretend anymore. I knew . . . "

"At some point . . . I think I was told that the placenta must have detached or ripped or something . . . I started bleeding."

"Oh, Jesus, kiddo," Charlie moaned and held her closer. "You were alone, MacKenzie? All alone?" he asked, the anguish in his voice undisguised, even though he knew the answer from Will's description. 

"Yes. Please don't ask me why I didn't call for help," she said hastily. "I don't know. I think about it. Sometimes, I think that maybe if I had, they could have saved him. I doubt it, being Kabul, but . . . ."

"Mac, honey," Charlie said, reaching up and placing his palm on the side of her face, "what makes you think that the baby could possibly have been viable under any circumstances?"

She looked at him, at the lines in his face, and the compassion and tears in his eyes. He saw her eyes darken and fill. She lowered her head which caused her tears to well up and spill down her cheeks. She brought her hand up and covered his. "Because he was," she whispered. "Alive . . . " She looked up into the confusion on his face, and continued, "for a little while."

Charlie made a sound that reminded her of the one Will had made in Habib's office. He held her and rocked her, while they both cried. Then, recovering, he looked at her, and said, "Dantana can't know this; right? MacKenzie! There's no way the fucker can know this!"

She shook her head. "He . . . the baby . . . was dead . . . when . . . by the time they found me . . . us. I was alone . . . with him. It was only minutes. I bap . . . " she shuddered and drifted off.

"Do you want to stop, kiddo?"

"No. I want . . . need . . . to finish. I named him . . . before he . . . went. . . for his father . . . William Duncan."

"Holy Mother of God," Charlie prayed.

"At the end . . . I was passing out and coming to, I think. I didn't even remember . . . until a couple of weeks ago. I had dreams . . . nightmares . . . where I called him, William . . . where he moved in my hands. The night after Newtown, they got worse, much more vivid. Until then, I thought they were my imagination. Then I remembered." She put her heard down on his chest again, and they were quiet for a long time.

Finally, Charlie spoke, "Mac, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for you, kids. That you have to live with this."

"It's okay. Will is very strong. He makes it better. Our first son died. We're not the only people who have ever lost a child. We're healing." She took a deep breath, "so, what does Dantana know? Do you want to do this part sitting in the chairs again? We might have some trouble explaining what we're doing down here on the floor if anyone should come looking for you." 

Charlie put both hands on the sides of her face and kissed her forehead. She says that Will is strong, he thought in amazement. Could she not see how incredible she was? Would he have brought her back if he had known she had endured this . . . . Suddenly, he was struck by the memory of their call when she told him she wanted to go to Iraq. They could talk about Dantana in a minute. He needed to tell her something. "Mac, when you called me about getting out of your contract and going to Iraq for CNN, and I tried to talk you into coming home . . . ."

"I couldn't come home," she interrupted. "I couldn't face Will. I couldn't cope with what had happened, Charlie. I couldn't face the loss. Everything was gone. My mind wouldn't let me process it, and if I were with Will, near Will, I'd have to, just like I'm doing now. My psyche isn't giving me a choice any longer. But then, Charlie, I was so guilty and empty. I couldn't face what I'd done. Even thinking that the baby had been stillborn, I'd killed Will's son . . . ."

"Mac! Christ, don't say that. Don't ever think that."

"I don't. Well, I do, in a way. I mean I am responsible for not taking care of myself and of him. But I'm not punishing myself for it anymore." They sat in silence a few minutes longer.

Then, Charlie stood up, laughing at his creaking bones, and extended his hand to help Mac to her feet. Becoming serious again, Charlie spoke, "I also have a confession to make. You scared me. When you called about the job at CNN. You sounded flat and dead until I suggested that you come back home, and I'd talk to Will, make him see sense. Then you got so upset, crying, sobbing and begging me to just let you go, saying you couldn't come back and survive. I'd forgotten that you said that until just now. I just remembered that you hadn't wanted to see Will . . . "

"Hadn't wanted . . . " the words came out small and strangled.

"When you were stabbed, I stopped Will from going to Germany."

"What?" She looked like she couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying.

"He wanted to go to Landstuhl. I don't think he knew what he would do or say, but he wanted to get to you when he heard that you were hurt. But, I didn't know what . . . After that phone call . . . Christ, what if you'd awakened and screamed at him to get out . . . I know that sounds crazy, but, my boy wouldn't . . . I just couldn't take that chance with him. I was so fucking in the dark about every fucking thing!" 

Mac's eyes widened. Finally, some anger and frustration. Nice to know that the Charlie they all knew and loved was still in there.

"I lied to him. Will. I told him that your father had called and it was a false alarm. You were fine. It was just a scratch and you were on your way back to Iraq. I was afraid for him, and I was also afraid for you, kiddo. What if he went and, I don't know, found he was still angry with you, I was afraid that you'd be devastated. I didn't know what was the right thing to do. So I came alone. He still doesn't know that I was there."

"You were in Landstuhl? You saw me? When?"

"The day after your surgery. You were sedated."

"I never knew."

"I asked Ted and Margaret not to tell you that I'd been there."

Mac was silent a long time, trying to absorb the idea that she might have awakened in Germany to find Will there with her. "Billy," she whispered and sank into a chair, closing her eyes.

"In hindsight, keeping him away was a mistake. I probably cost you kids years. I feel guilty about it. He'll never forgive me, but I need to tell him too."

She looked up to where he was standing over her. "Don't feel guilty. Jake Habib asked a week or so ago if I liked my life -- the way things were right now, where I was with Will, what was happening for us, you know. I said that I liked it very much, that I couldn't imagine loving someone or being loved by someone more than Will and I do, or being as comfortable with another human being. He said that when he was a boy, his father had once said to him that if he was happy where he was, there was no point wondering if another path might also have led him there. All he could know for certain was that the path that he had travelled had brought him to where he wanted to be. So even if there had been some bad, hard or sad times along that path, he should embrace it for no other reason than that it was the one he had travelled to a good place. Sounds very Zen, or Jewish, or in this case, Palestinian Christian, but it's true, Charlie. Who knows if Will and I would be the people we are today if one little thing about our past were changed or any of us had made different choices. It was a hell of a path, but it's ours, and I'm doing my damnedest to embrace it."

"How did you get so wise, so young?"

"I'm not that young."

"To me, you are, kiddo."

Reaching up and pulling him down into the other chair, she asked, "Want to talk about Dantana?"

"Not much." 

She smiled and began to talk. She told him about thinking she was dying and being unable to gather the strength to call for help, the maid finding her and the hotel manager giving a statement to Dantana. When he asked her how she survived, she told him how Danny had saved her life and the little she could remember of being in the hospital and then at Danny's apartment after she found that she couldn't cope with going back to the hotel. 

When she was done, she looked at her watch. "Wow! I need to get back downstairs."

They stood and Charlie embraced her. "What you've been through, kiddo." His voice broke. "I don't know how you've coped as well as you have. You're a miracle! But Mac, seriously, don't think that you have to be invincible. I don't want to sound like I'm pushing pills here, but we've got a lot in front of us with this business with Danatna. If you need something, there's no shame in taking medication to help you get through." He looked so heartbroken, so worn out, so old.

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'm doing okay, Charlie, really. I see Dr. Habib. And I have Will, my secret weapon. You can't believe how caring he is or how incredible . . . " for the first time that morning, she was radiant. Oh, what the fuck, she thought, it's Charlie. He needs this. "Charlie, I'm going to be fine. I can't not be fine for the same reason that I can't take anything . . . " she said, wrapping her arms around his neck the way she had done after Will announced their engagement, and going up on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, "because I'm pregnant."


	25. Drumbeats And Heartbeats

Will hung up the phone and sat back in his chair clearly enjoying having been told yet again by another man how fortunate he was to be the one MacKenzie McHale had chosen for her mate. He smiled, recalling the conversation. Charlie hadn't said much, just that Mac was on her way down, and that she was "a fucking miracle," that Will "wouldn't deserve her in a million years" and that he "should never forget" that he was "the luckiest fuck alive." It was good to be the alpha male.

A second later, the woman in question opened his door without knocking. "Do you think God has a warped sense of humor?" she asked. She looked okay, he thought. Pulled through the ringer a bit, but basically alright.

"Never thought about it."

"Well assuming that He actually meddles in the affairs of humans, look at our situation. First, I'm 38 years old and I get pregnant the first time you look at me cross-eyed." He looked at her cross-eyed. "Won't work, Billy, you can't get me any more pregnant than I already am." She walked over to stand beside his desk.

"I can try, can't I?" He held out his arm and she moved closer and sat on his lap. 

"Yes, I've noticed your efforts these last six weeks or so; how's that working out for you?"

"Well, you know, determination is a beautiful thing. And, what are you going to say if Dr. Barrington gets two heartbeats tomorrow?"

She laughed, "that it's twins?"

"Oh, ye of little faith . . . ". He kissed her. "Doesn't look like talking to Charlie was as bad as you'd feared."

"He's a good dad. He was more sad about it all than angry. He really only vented his frustration once about having been kept in the dark. And," she looked Will straight in the eye, "you'd already told him some of it." Will tried to put on a surprised and innocent expression. "He's a pretty decent actor, and I doubt that I'd have noticed, actually, except that I could tell when the train started to jump the track for him. I'm guessing that you talked to him the morning after Newtown before we went to see Habib."

Will winced. Of course! He'd believed that the baby had been stillborn when he'd talked to Charlie. That's what Charlie had been expecting to hear from Mac. Jesus, no wonder Charlie's train had jumped the track, as Mac put it. "Are you mad at me?"

"No. He's the only parent you've got, Billy, and William was your baby too. You have the right to talk to Charlie if you need to." So, she didn't see it as his trying to pave the way for her conversation, Will thought gratefully, which probably would have pissed her off. He decided to just kiss her again in response and say nothing. "You might have told me," she continued, poking him lightly in the chest, "but I can't really get too worked up about that. I am tired though. And hungry. I donated my breakfast to the New York City sewer system in Charlie's loo."

He looked at her closely, pushing the hair away from her face. He could see the residual redness and puffiness around her eyes and that the pain in them was a bit more pronounced than usual, but her honeymoon tan and general state of restedness would probably mask it to any casual observer. Just then, there was a sharp knock on the door, followed by Gary Cooper sticking his head in while asking Will if he had seen Mac. Doesn't anyone around here wait to be told to come in any longer? There was a time when no one would have dared open Will McAvoy's office door with out an express invitation. But that was a time before Will had stared across the bull pen and felt his insides drop out at the sight of the woman who now rested on his knee. 

"Oh, Mac! You're here."

"Yes, Gary? You need something?" She replied cool as a cucumber without moving a muscle. And so the three of them proceeded to discuss and resolve how to handle a potential problem with an item that at the pitch meeting (she had missed) had been assigned the status of candidate for C block on that night's show. 

"Okay. Thanks, guys," Gary said, leaving them alone once more. He stood for a moment outside the office, reflecting on how it was both bizarre and strangely unremarkable to have had that conversation while the show's EP sat in the Managing Editor's lap. 

As soon as Gary closed the door, Mac cracked up. "We can't ever do that again," she snickered trying to adopt an abashed tone. 

"Why not? I think I'd like to conduct all my business meetings with you on my lap from now on. For one thing, you make a great shield for any potentially embarrassing contingencies." He shifted to allow her to more fully experience the current one.

"Well, I'm afraid you will just have to find another means of dealing with your contingencies," she said, shifting her own weight against him and making him groan. "While we are not subject to ACN's anti-nepotism policy, we are still bound by contract to comport ourselves in a professional manner and eschew excessively lustful behavior on the premises."

"I'm not excessively lustful," Will said nibbling Mac's neck. "I'm just proving that I'm a red-blooded 'Merican boy after a little blue-blooded booty." She whacked him playfully on the chest. "Mac, do you honestly think that we're the only people who've ever screwed in an ACN executive washroom?"

"Well, since one of those washrooms is yours, Hef, no would be the obvious answer there." She smiled triumphantly as he inclined his head in defeated fealty.

"The Ambassador would be so proud of you."

"Yes," she said, leaning in for a kiss. When they broke, she continued, "and point out that it was a sizeable barn door at which I was aiming, Mr. McAvoy."

"Yes; realized that as soon as it was out of my mouth, Mrs. McAvoy. I may be a Republican nit-wit, but I've got you, don't I?" Someday soon, he thought, he'd tell her that he'd never invited another woman into his office bathroom. His memory of her there, so young, so scandalized and so aroused had been sacred.

"So, back to God," she said. "Don't you think that only a deity with a strange sense of humor would decide that it would be fun to observe what would happen should I be pregnant while reliving everything that Dantana's allegations are dredging up?"

"That," he conceded, cupping her face in her hands, "or a kind and merciful one. The first thing that Charlie asked me after I told him how you'd lost the baby in Kabul, was could we have more kids. 

"What did you say?"

"That we believed, and your doctor believed, that we could. Mac, seriously, I don't know how well I'd be doing right now if I had to wonder whether what I've done to you might also have cost you the ability to ever conceive a child." Will closed his eyes as the pain of trying not to imagine it swept through him.

Mac spoke softly. "I told him. Charlie. I told him that I'm pregnant." Will looked surprised. "He was so sad and worried about me that I just couldn't leave him that way."

"The list grows. Rebecca. Rosemary. Nessa. Charlie."

"Sloan. Thanks to your phone call on our wedding morning."

"Ah, yes. You know, I wondered why she didn't pin me to the wall the next time she saw me and demand to discuss why you were sick, but then with events, I forgot to mention it."

"The big tip off was your hanging up. As she put it, there's no way you wouldn't have been concerned about me retching my guts out unless you already knew why. That girl doesn't have two PhDs for nothing. She's pretty smart and slick."

No time like the present, Will thought. "Speaking of smart and slick, His Lordship got it out of me at the airport when he arrived."

"Really? You're kidding!" she didn't seem upset, he noted thankfully. "How? Why would he even suspect?" The answer to that question led to a full disclosure of the late night Skype call and Will's being caught off guard by Ted's remark about the usual reason people are in a hurry to marry.

"I guess he got suspicious, so when he landed, he asked if I was taking care of you, and then out of the blue, he observed that he imagined that like your mother's pregnancies, you were having a lot of rough mornings. And, of course, he was dead right. I tried to recover, but I think I did a good imitation of the expression everyone tells me I wore seeing you again in the bull pen."

MacKenzie laughed. "That's one of Daddy's standard tricks. Worked great on my brothers and me when we were children. Apparently worked on Yuri Andropov a couple of times too, so you're in good company. What did you say?"

"I said something lame like why would he think that, and tried to act like I had no idea what had gotten into his head. He just looked at me and advised that if I am ever casting about for a career change, I should stay away from professional poker 'cause he'd hate to see his daughter and grandchild destitute." 

"That's Daddy!" Mac laughed heartily and Will was thrilled to see that genuine pleasure had replaced some of the sadness in her eyes. "So, if Daddy knows, Mummy knows. That makes seven."

"Come on, Kenz," Will said starting to rise and pushing her up. "It's getting late. Let's get you some lunch."

 

The 4:00 PM rundown meeting concluded on time. They were taking on the Tea Party again over the Fiscal Cliff. Everyone filed out around Mac who was absorbed in reading Will's copy for an editorial segment that evening. Will sat leaning back in a chair at the other end of the conference table. 

"Well," she began when they were alone, "first, let me say that this is brilliant . . . "

"But?" 

"Not, but . . . It's just . . . ". She looked around at the glass conference room wall. "Could we go into your office?"

"Sure." He watched her stand and saw that she was trembling slightly. "Mac?" He walked up to her and put his arm around her waist. "Kenz? Everything okay?" She only nodded and walked out toward his office.

They entered and closed the door. Will took his wife into his arms. "Okay, talk."

"Have you ever met Adam Pearl?"

"Who?"

"I know you interviewed Mariane when we reported on the enactment of the Daniel Pearl Freedom of the Press Act back in 2010. Did you talk to Adam? I don't remember. He's a very sweet little boy." She looked up to see comprehension dawning on Will's face. "I'm scared, Will. This time, I'm scared. I don't want our child to only know you through . . . "

"Mac, this is America, not Pakistan, but if we give in to fear, it might as well be. We need a call to action, a drumbeat that people can follow, unless we just want to turn the country over to these morons. I really want to do this. Come on, you let me report the bin Laden story high as a kite. You trusted me and everything turned out okay."

"Yes. You're right. Yes, of course. I don't know what I'm thinking. It must be hormones." She smiled that over-bright smile that he knew all too well. "Don't pay any attention to me." She gestured to the script still in her hand. "This is great work, Will. Really, it is."

As she was speaking, Will was asking himself what the fuck he was doing adding even one little bit of worry and stress onto the emotional burdens his pregnant wife was already carrying. The Jay fucking Leno of cable news certainly wouldn't risk his neck for a political principle. So what if the Tea Party was a bunch of dangerous fucking idiots. He had a wife and child. He could remember news people whispering that about Danny . . . Didn't he know . . . Were there no warning signs or did he ignore them. "No, you're right," he said. "I have no business doing anything that frightens you."

"No, I'm not right. You . . . we need to do this. We need to call insanity by its name. I want you to read this, Billy." She shook the paper. "It's really good. It's measured, not that the right wing crazies will recognize that, but it doesn't pull any punches. It needs to be said and you are just the man to say it." She kissed him, and stepped out of his embrace. Putting the script on his desk, she started for the door, trying to affect a spring in her step. When she started to open it, she paused. "Billy?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me one thing . . . "

"Anything."

"If the threats ramp up, or actually, even if they don't, promise me that you will be especially careful after this and do everything that Lonny asks with no cheating and no arguments."

"I promise, Kenzie. I do. Nothing's going to happen." The day would come when he would sit for hours and silently replay those words in an endless loop wondering how he could have been so wrong.

 

It was a good show. Will was at the top of his game. His interview of Speaker of the House John Boehner over the last minute compromise to avert the "fiscal cliff" was one of his best. "Beautiful work, Billy" was Mac's review in his ear when they went to commercial. He saved his editorial for the end of the broadcast. Looking into the camera with an unwavering focus, he explained the disasters that the Tea Party's no compromise philosophy had almost brought upon the country, and closed by urging the viewers to speak out "against this kind of short-sighted politicking masquerading as governing. Thank you for watching and listening. I'm Will McAvoy. Terry Smith is up next with the Capital Report from Washington. Good night."

"And good luck," Mac finished in his ear, as the bull pen erupted in applause. 

After wrapping up in the control room, she walked straight to Neal's desk. She was the last person he wanted to see. "It's pretty predictable," he replied to her unstated question.

"Meaning?" 

"The right-wing loonies are out in force. He's anti-American, anti-freedom, pro-socialist, you name it. But, on the positive side, the mainstream media's been very complimentary and supportive. Nice blog posts and tweets from the Times, the Washington Post, Blitzer and Cooper from CNN. Brian Williams. Matt Lauer. Dan Rather too."

"Death threats?"

"Mac . . . " Neal really had no way to finish the sentence so he just let it drift off. She just stared a hole into him until he continued. "I'm sending them all to security for evaluation."

"How many?"

"More than . . . "

"How many?"

"Fifteen so far. That I've found."

"He's not going to quit this." She looked up as Lonny entered the bull pen.

"I know," Neal replied soberly, "I know."

Will's fears that Mac would have bad dreams or a full-fledged a nightmare that night were unfounded. Despite her conversation with Charlie, the fact that she was scheduled to go to court the next morning with Rebecca for the hearing on Dantana's motion to depose her, and her concerns for his safety, she slept soundly. After the broadcast, she had congratulated him along with everyone else in the newsroom, and said nothing about the right wing diatribes raging against him on the internet. The only evidence that she was at all worried or distressed that he could see (or perhaps imagine, he told himself) was that she clung to him more than usual during their lovemaking that night. 

 

The morning of January 4th dawned cold and crisp. Mac was a little nauseous, but kept everything down which they both agreed was an auspicious start for what they hoped would be a day full of good news. The plan was that Lonny would drop Will at the AWM building, then take Mac to the United States District Courthouse for the Southern District of New York, go back to the studio to pick up Will, then get Mac at the courthouse and drive them both to Dr. Barrington's for her appointment. 

"Nervous?" Will asked her in the car, squeezing her hand.

"A little."

"Well, like Rebecca said, you don't have to say anything, just sit there looking young and healthy."

"Uh? Oh, um, yes," Mac said distractedly, and Will realized that it wasn't the hearing making her nervous. It wasn't the hearing that was making him nervous either. At 11:30, Denise Barrington was going to do an ultrasound examination to measure the fetus, estimate it's gestational age and listen for a heartbeat, and he prayed, measure its heart rate. Will knew from his internet reading that if the ultrasound revealed that it was too small or the heart rate too slow, or there was no heartbeat at all, the pregnancy was for all purposes over. He put his arm around his wife and told himself silently that everything would be fine over and over like a mantra or a prayer. When he got to ACN, he sought out Charlie and poured out all of his concerns and the statistical basis for each. Charlie observed, patting his boy on the back, that he was glad there hadn't been any internet either time his wife was pregnant, and that he had had no idea he was supposed to have been worrying about so many things.

 

MacKenzie actually enjoyed the court hearing. Dantana's lawyers were no match for Rebecca or, as it turned out, MacKenzie's appearance. The beautifully attired lawyer had met Mac on the steps of the magnificent courthouse, which Mac recognized as the backdrop for any number of movie and TV scenes. "Alright, I want to see the woman who walked down the aisle, Lady MacKenzie, daughter of the Earl of Ailesbury, in there this morning. You look terrific, by the way. How did you and Will find the time to get out in the sun?

"Multi-tasking," Mac smiled enigmatically, "we had a private beach, clothing was optional."

"Really?" Rebecca grinned and hugged her. "Okay, as I was saying, besides youth and vitality, which you've locked up with that tan, your job is to project dignity and competence. No one questions your authority or right to exercise it. You were born to rule the world, as generations have before you. You were also born to serve a greater good for the people. Head high. Pleasant expression. Respectful of the process but not overwhelmed by it. Got it?

"Got it."

They won. Nothing that Dantana's lawyer said about MacKenzie's allegedly precarious mental health could survive in the face of the woman herself. Finally, the Judge opined that while he had no medical training, "it didn't take a brain surgeon to see that Miss McHale is obviously a very healthy and fit young woman in complete possession of all of her mental faculties." This gave Rebecca the opportunity to guild the lily by stating, "ACN's view, Your Honor, is that this motion is nothing more than an attempt to harass Ms. McHale and generate attorneys' fees." As Rebecca had hoped, Dantana's lawyer defended himself by announcing that he was working on a contingent fee basis, which Rebecca had suspected and now had cleverly confirmed. 

"That was fun," Rebecca said, as they waited for Lonny and Will to arrive.

"Yes, it was. I thoroughly enjoyed myself," Mac said, but her eyes were clouded with worry.

"Then why don't you look like it?"

"Oh! Is it that obvious? We're having out first ultrasound in about a half hour." She grasped Rebecca's hand. "What if there's no heartbeat? Will . . . He'll just be devastated."

"There will be a heartbeat. You've just been determined to be healthy and fit by a U.S. District Court Judge. Seriously, Mac, the odds are with you. It's going to be fine. And if it is not, you and Will have each other. You two can survive anything together."

 

Will and McKenzie McAvoy looked to Denise Barrington like a couple of deer in headlights. She wanted to hug them both but it seemed unprofessional. She had thought that given the history that they might be nervous. She had decided to do a transvaginal ultrasound because it was still early in the pregnancy and this method was more sensitive. The last thing she wanted was really to scare them by missing a heartbeat with an external scan. Also, it would give her a better measurement of fetal size. 

They went through the introductory pleasantries, starting with how much Denise had enjoyed the wedding and reception. She had been seated next to Will's roommate and his wife. "What a trip she was," Denise chuckled, "and so young for him."

"Do you have any idea how much older than MacKenzie I am?" Will asked her.

"Well, yes. But you two look well matched somehow. They don't. And you look about ten years younger than Ken in any event."

That led to Dr. Barrington's observing on how well rested and heathy they both looked. They talked briefly about the honeymoon, and Will got to offer his newest "cure" for morning sickness. Denise tried not to completely burst his balloon when she observed that Mac was entering her third month, which is when most women stop being sick. Then, she stroked his ego with a totally sincere compliment on Will's anti-Tea Party editorial the night before saying that "it was about time, we stopped treating this insanity as if it were a legitimate way of conducting a government." He seemed genuinely pleased that she watched the show ("only miss it if I'm delivering a baby").

Then they got down to business. After listening to Mac's heart, taking her vital signs and weight, and noting that Mac had gained a little which Denise said looked good on her, she gave Mac a gown and instructed her to change, climb up on the examining table and put her feet in the stirrups. When Mac was in place, Denise wheeled in the ultrasound machine cart and explained to Mac and Will what she was going to do. There were a few jokes as she rolled a condom onto the wand, explaining that the shields sold by the manufacturer cost five times the price of Trojans at the drugstore. Mac volunteered that Will had a supply for which he no longer had a need that he could donate to the cause. When the doctor thought that Mac was sufficiently relaxed, she inserted the wand and started the examination. 

Gesturing for Will to come around to where he could see the screen, Dr. Barrington said, "There's your baby's head, this is the spine, that's probably a leg . . . Now I'm going to get a measurement." She clicked on two spots on a blob that looked pretty damn indistinct to Will, and waited a few seconds for a readout. "Okay! 1.7 centimeters. It's big," she said. "I'd say, we've got Osama McAvoy in here. When did you say was the first opportunity for this little person to have been conceived?" she asked.

"About 3:45 AM on the morning of November 7th," Will replied.

"Well, that's precise."

"No," Mac corrected, "about 4:30 AM. The start time doesn't matter."

"Good God! You two are something else," Denise laughed.

"Journalism is all about precision." Mac replied with mock seriousness, clearly elated that the ultrasound was going well.

Dr. Barrington shifted direction and a small circle that was rapidly expanding and contracting appeared on the screen. Will gasped as it dawned on him that he was looking at his baby's beating heart. Denise smiled up at him and then at MacKenzie who was looking from the screen to her husband's face, her eyes glistening. Will, for his part appeared to be simply mesmerized. "Let's get a count. 162 beats per minute! Alright! That's just perfect. You go, little guy." Will finally managed to pry his eyes off the screen and bend down to kiss MacKenzie. Then, he lowered his head to the examining table with his body across MacKenzie's. It took a moment and the sight of Mac stroking his back for Denise to realize that he was weeping.

Dr. Barrington turned off the ultrasound machine and put away the equipment as quietly as she could. "I'll be outside," she whispered to MacKenzie. "Take your time. Come out when you're dressed."


	26. As Good As It Gets

It was January 5th, a little before 7 AM in New York; lunchtime in London. As Mac explained to Will, even if her father had gone into The Foreign Office that morning, he usually tried to get home for lunch if her mother was in town with him and would not be out. Mac wasn't sure exactly what her father was doing for the government these days, but it seemed from his vague responses to be connected to the clandestine services in some way. She'd teased him about being licensed to kill when he was in New York and had been called away to a hush-hush meeting at the consulate two days after Christmas. So, Mac decided to try and reach her parents. She hadn't talked to them since Will's confession about having confirmed her pregnancy to her father, and now she had good news to impart. The Skype call went through, and, to her delight, Ted McHale's face filled the screen. 

"Hello, Daddy."

"Hello, Mackie. Just a minute. Let me get your mother." Turning away from the computer and walking a few paces, he called out, "Maggie, come here. Mackie's on Skype."

A minute later Margaret McHale's face appeared beside her husband's. "Mackie, darling, you look marvelous. Tan and rested. I was afraid that we were wearing you out with the wedding and everything. Where's Will?"

"He's here somewhere. He'll be along in a moment, I expect." MacKenzie replied. Taking on a serious tone, she began, "So, Ambassador, I understand that you've been strutting your stuff and prying confidential information out of poor, unsuspecting and slow-witted Nebraska farm boys."

Ted McHale grinned. "Only one, actually. And I wouldn't exactly call him slow-witted . . . "

"Wouldn't call whom slow-witted?" Will asked walking into the dining room and handing Mac a spoon and a container of peach yogurt.

"You, darling," Mac said, putting a hand on his chest. "You see, Daddy, he makes up as a grammarian for what he lacks in the guile department." 

"William . . . Will, good to see you." Ted McHale called out. "I was actually just watching your editorial from yesterday's broadcast on the internet . . . when Mackie called . . . " he stopped, momentarily distracted by the expression of concern that crossed MacKenzie's face. "Very well done, my boy."

"Thank you, sir." Will considered making some reference to having been called a Republican nit-wit, but thought better of it.

Margaret too had seen the pained expression that had clouded her daughter's eyes, and asked, "Mackie, is everything alright?" Lee had told her about the hate websites and death threats against her son-in-law. Such things had been a not infrequent part of life in the diplomatic service, but somehow it seemed uncivilized that a journalist should be threatened.

Mac spoke. "Oh, the editorial's stirred up the ranks of the usual right-wing crazies." She sighed and both her parents noted with silent concern, that Mac was definitely more bothered by it than she was trying to let on. "But, I called actually because really things couldn't be going finer around here." She paused, smiled and seemed to let herself be genuinely happy. "Drum roll, please." Will accommodated with a series of paradiddles on the table top. "We had our first ultrasound yesterday. We saw . . . " she paused and Will saw tears glistening in her eyes, "we saw the baby's heart beating. The fetus . . . apparently, it's officially progressed from an embryo to being a fetus . . . is only about 1.7 centimeters but it has a beating heart. Kind of amazing when you think about it."

"Strong too," Will broke in, "162 beats per minute."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Margaret and Ted both exclaimed together. "And we can talk about it now, I take it," Lady McHale continued.

"Well, we still need to get through the genetic testing." Mac explained. "We have another appointment scheduled for three weeks from yesterday. Dr. Barrington will draw blood for a test that reacts with . . . proteins, I think, that are markers for a variety of genetic abnormalities. I would like to get through that before the pregnancy becomes common knowledge. Actually, I wanted to get through that before anyone found out that I was pregnant, but we seem to be failing miserably at that." The McHales just smiled.

"Nessa knows," Mac continued, "she caught me with my head in the toilet the morning of the day before the wedding when a slow-witted Nebraskan, who shall remain nameless, forgot to close the bathroom and bedroom doors. I swore her to secrecy, but I assume she's told Julian. 

"Yes. Hard to imagine either of them keeping anything that major from the other," Ted agreed, "but you never know. Neither has said a word to us."

"Well, they wouldn't since they'd assume that we were still in the dark," Margaret added. "Nessa must have been over the moon for you, Mackie. She seems to be enjoying motherhood very much herself."

"She was right on to wanting it to be a boy so he and Teddy would be close."

"I'm hoping for a girl, myself," Will announced.

"Really?" Mac asked, turning to her husband in what was obviously total surprise. "When did you decide this?"

Margaret and Ted looked at each other, sharing a look that acknowledged that they were clearly witnessing an unrehearsed slice of Mac and Will's married life, and remained silent.

"I don't know," he said. "It wasn't really a decision. More like a process." He was groping for things to say since he hadn't really intended to announce it like this, and he wasn't about to tell the whole truth in front of the McHales, which was that watching MacKenzie with Tessa and Teddy had made him think that a girl, even an infant girl, was going to be easier on her psyche than a boy . . . another boy . . . would be. "Some of it's that picture of you when were little. I'd love to have a little copy of you running around here. Mostly it's your eyes and your smile. I really want her eyes to crinkle up like yours . . . Yes! . . . just like they're doing now . . . when she smiles." He put his arm around Mac's waist.

"Okay." Mac smiled up at him. "Well, I guess you have a 50/50 chance of getting your wish on the gender thing at least." 

They chatted a bit about Mac's morning sickness and most, but not all, of the treatments Will had been employing. Margaret made a few suggestions, and reassured her daughter that, as Dr. Barrington said, it should start going away now that she was getting on to three months along. Suddenly, MacKenzie froze, looking intently at the upper right corner of the screen. "Good God! Will, look at the time! Mummy, Daddy, we've got to go. We still need to dress. Lonny will be here any moment. Love to everyone. You can tell Ness and Jules about the heartbeat. But keep it all under your hat with everyone else until after the tests. Talk to you soon." Mac and her parents made kissing noises while Will said good-bye and clicked off the call.

As they were finishing dressing, Mac's cell phone rang. She looked at the read out quizzically, and said aloud, "why do you think Rebecca's calling me?" And then it hit her. The ultrasound! She'd told Rebecca about it and then she and Will had rushed back to the studio to put the show together. Afterwards, Mac had first been distracted by monitoring the internet repercussions of that evening's attack on the Tea Party, and then had allowed Will to distract her further with a celebration of "162 beats per minute," as Will had informed her when she'd asked just what was the occasion.

"Rebecca, hi . . . "

"MacKenzie, I'm sorry to bother you. I've been wondering how everything went yesterday. I mean I saw Will last night and I figured that he wouldn't have been on if there had been a major problem, but, well . . . "

"Oh, God, Rebecca, I'm so sorry for not calling you after I let lose my concerns on you. That was so unfair of me. Yes, everything was fine. 162 beats per minute fine." 

 

They were having their first post-wedding session jointly with Dr. Habib that morning. When they walked through the door, Jake Habib noted a marked contrast in their demeanors. Will seemed relaxed and positively ebullient. Mac seemed happy but tense. Jake had never seen them this out of sync before. They told him about the ultrasound. Mac confessed that she had been more nervous about it than she'd let on to anyone. 

"You want this so much," she said angling her body toward Will. "I looked into your eyes that morning that we decided I wouldn't take the Plan B pill, and I was no longer concerned about an unwanted pregnancy, I was scared shitless that I was going to let you down again."

"You've never let me down. But what do you mean? Why?" Will asked, confused.

"Because I had no idea if Danny's fix was going to work. I'd been told that the shape I was in . . . I don't know, that 75, 80 percent , maybe 99 and 44/100ths percent of doctors would never have attempted what he did . . . maybe Danny was the only doctor on the whole planet crazy enough to think he could give me back a functioning uterus. I saw a doctor in London after I got out of Pakistan who told me that he thought that there was very little chance that I could produce a lining into which a fertilized egg would be able to implant." 

"But . . . But Dr. Barrington . . . " Will stuttered.

"Actually," Mac said shyly, "I've never told her about William's birth. Any of it." She sighed deeply, and looked soberly at Jake. "I suppose that I need to do that, uh?"

"It would be a good idea," he responded. "But, not today. So, you needn't dwell on it, MacKenzie. We will talk about it some more before you do it. Okay?"

"Yes," she smiled weakly. 

"Well, it's great to hear that everything's going perfectly with the baby," Dr. Habib picked up the conversation again. Mac and Will both smiled and nodded. Their pleasure was clearly evident on both of their faces. "So, what's troubling you, MacKenzie?"

"Wha . . . What?" she replied, caught off guard. 

"Something seems to be bothering you."

"Oh. I suppose. I'm fighting it, really. It's just . . . It's just that the death threats increased . . . ". Will looked at her as if this were news to him. "Off the charts, really, since last night's editorial critical of the Tea Party.

"How do you know?" Will asked.

"Texts from Neal," she said in reply. "I'm not doing a very good job of coping this time . . . I guess."

"Is that surprising?" Habib asked. "I don't imagine that threats against the life of her unborn child's father would be easily coped with by any woman. Why do you expect yourself to not be bothered by them?"

"Because I'm the EP. I need to be able to make decisions based on what's best for the show . . . what's in the best interests of our viewers . . . ."

"Oh, what a load of bullshit!" Jake looked at her shocked expression (exactly the response he had been going for, he noted with satisfaction). "Mac, people are threatening to kill the man you love . . . your husband . . . the father of your baby. Stop expecting yourself to take it in stride. It's not just another day at the office."

"Should I not be focusing on the Tea Party?" Will asked, looking at the doctor.

"Are you asking me? Habib replied. "I can't tell you what to do. And, I'm not telling you that it's wrong just because it upsets MacKenzie. People do things everyday that upset and frighten the people who love them. Many of them have a lot less justification for it than you do."

"That's just it," Mac broke in, "it is justified. I don't want him to stop because of me. I'm proud of him. I want him to be doing this." She started to crumble, and Will put his arm around her. "I'm just so scared," she finished in a small anguished voice. "And, I feel responsible. He wouldn't be doing this if not for me. If anything happens to him, I'll be responsible." 

Will just stared at her, obviously having trouble following his wife's logic. Marveling at Mac's capacity to take things on herself, Jake Habib said quietly, "forgive me, Mac, but how that could be true is not readily apparent, at least to me."

Smiling slightly at the irony in Habib's voice, Mac explained about Don Quixote and News Night 2.0. "So, you see, if I hadn't come back, he'd be safe and reporting on the new iPhone, and running around with Erin Andrews . . . "

"I don't want . . . " Will started, as Dr. Habib cut him off.

"He was fucking miserable doing all that. I have file cabinets full of notes to prove it." Mac smiled again, a little more broadly.

"Erin Andrews, Mac?" Will asked, hoping to distract his wife from a subject that had no obvious satisfactory resolution. "Don't you think that you are a little obsessed with Erin Andrews?"

"I am not! It's just that she's beautiful and young and well, Erin Andrews, and you took her to the Caribbean and had a relationship with her . . . You did . . . You went places with her . . . You and she were in People and TMI and other gossip magazines that found their way to Pakistan . . . You were her date to the Golden Globes a few years back."

"And whatever relationship there was ended in 2010 after two days in St. Lucia. She's actually a nice person, and I'm sure she'd love to meet you, Mac."

"Why did your relationship end after two days? You stayed the whole week . . . Actually, almost two weeks after Northwestern."

"You remember that?"

Mac just gave Will a look that said, don't change the subject. Jake Habib wasn't about to intervene in this discussion, and was pretty sure they had forgotten that he was in the room.

"Yes, we stayed, but we weren't trying to be lovers anymore after the first few days," Will continued.

"What happened?"

"Are you kidding, Mac? Fucking Northwestern happened." When she appeared genuinely confused, he continued. "At breakfast on our third morning, or rather, I should say, right after a lovely $250 meal on our sun-drenched ocean-front terrace, Erin looked at me and asked, 'who is she, Will?' To which, I said with great composure, as I recall, 'I don't know what you are talking about; there is no she,' all the while thinking, where the hell is this coming from, can she read my fucking mind. But I just stayed calm and casually lighted two cigarettes, fixing her with my best smoldering, lustful, come hither stare, and then slowly took one from my lips and handed it to her, just as she said, 'I see. Then, I suppose Kenz is a man.'"

"What! She said my name! How did she know my name?" Will just looked at her. "You talked in your sleep or you called her by my name?" Mac eyes were huge with surprise and thinly disguised pleasure.

Now, Will was clearly playing along, aware he was both pleasing and distracting his wife from thinking about the death threats. "What do you think?" He asked in a voice that indicated the answer.

"You called her, Kenz! When?"

"When? At the worst possible time, of course."

"When you came!"

"That's what she said. I honestly wasn't aware I'd done it. She tried to get me to talk about it, or I should say, about you. She failed at that, but we did talk about how I wasn't in love with her and not likely to ever be. It was okay, the 'relationship' needed to end. She wasn't angry or even really hurt. In fact, the reason I said that I think she'd like to meet you is that about four months later, sometime after my News Night 2.0 apology broadcast in which, if you recall, I identified my partner in crime as my EP, Mac Kenz ie (he said it slowly emphasizing the second syllable) McHale, she sent me an email with a link to your official ACN bio picture and just the words, 'Kenz is definitely not a man.'" Mac cuddled into him, which seemed to inspire him to disclose more.

"So, the secret of Hef's success is outed," Will continued. "I just had to be careful that I kept it all in my head and never said your name out loud."

"Will! That's what you were doing? You pretended they were me. All those women! You pretended you were with me?" He just smiled at her. She thumped him hard on the chest.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"You have to ask? Jesus, Billy! You could have had me! The real me, all that time . . . or most of it, anyway. You'd leave me in the bull pen night after night with my guts hanging out, bleeding on the floor, and go off with some model half my age . . . ." There were tears of frustration in her eyes.

"Half my age, not half yours . . ."

"Oh, shut up . . . With some beautiful woman . . ." She thumped him again. " . . . and then take her to bed and pretend she was me! I was right there! Right there waiting for you to come to me." She said the last more softly. Her need to vent seemingly satisfied.

"But, he couldn't," Habib finally spoke. "You know that, MacKenzie."

"I know. I know." She rested her head on Will's shoulder. "Sorry about the thumping." Will smiled and kissed her hair, figuring that in truth, he deserved a lot more than a "thumping." 

 

The next four weeks seemed to fly by. Dr. Barrington drew blood for the chromosome tests and did a special type of ultrasound screening designed to identify a certain fluid build up in the fetus that is risk factor for chromosomal abnormalities. She saw none and also confirmed that "Osama" as they all now called the baby was growing right on schedule and developing limbs and organs normally. Four days after the visit, when Mac's cell phone beeped during a rundown meeting, she glanced at Sloan in terror and then grabbed Will's hand and dragged him out with her to take the call. They went into Mac's office and he clutched her to him as she put the phone in speaker mode.

"Good news!" The doctor's voice boomed out at them. Will felt Mac go limp with relief. "The results were perfect. There's a second trimester blood test that we will do, but with these results, I see no reason to get more invasive. I believe that Osama's just fine. Go celebrate!" Will had already started, and Mac had to push her husband away to get enough breath to thank the doctor, disconnect the call and suggest that they needed to go back to the rundown.

 

MacKenzie continued to see Dr. Habib, and in light of her current stress level over Will's safety, he continued to refrain from pushing her to uncover any more of the memories of William that he was sure that she was still suppressing. They actually discussed the past very little. However, Mac told him during one session, that the evening before, Sloan had asked her whether there would be a little Will, Jr. running around if the baby was a boy.

"I hadn't even thought of that . . . or about how to handle that question. Oh, God! Everyone's going to be asking that after we announce the pregnancy . . . which Will wants to do any day now . . . It's such a natural question, almost an ice breaker, really."

"What did you say to Sloan?" Jake asked gently.

Mac smiled a thin lipped smile and shook her head. "I'm sure she thinks I'm as mentally unstable as Dantana's trying to make out. First, I froze. Did my impression of a petit mal seizure. Then, I stuttered out something about how I didn't think so . . .then said something incredibly stupid like there is only one Will McAvoy. I must have sounded like an idiot! I'm sure she's figured out that she'd stumbled into some kind of deep emotional sink hole. She's probably trying to get the truth out of Will even as we speak. I'm going to have to tell her someday." MacKenzie looked up at him, and although she tried to smile, his heart sank at the anguish on her face. Then, she lowered her head into her hands. "Dear God, this pain is never going to go away, is it?" she asked, starting to weep softly.

Habib reached out, put a hand on her arm, and said, "No." She looked up. "Mac, I don't think that parents ever stop mourning a child they have lost." She nodded, grateful for his honesty. "However," he continued, " it won't always be this raw. We'll work out what you'll say when someone asks about a junior. Life will go on. Boy or girl, you'll give this baby a name. And, after that, you and Will will work and love and play and raise your family, and William's memory will become a part of all that."

 

There was also no easy resolution for Mac's conflicted emotions about the Tea Party coverage, so she tried to live with it the best she could and follow Jake's advice to stop trying to hide her worries about Will's safety from him. Habib also encouraged her to talk about her fears with Charlie and Sloan since they both knew about the baby, rather than attempt to cope alone. It helped. And Will was so clearly doing something that he wanted to do, and more importantly, something he believed was important, that his enthusiasm was infectious. Everyone in the newsroom was walking a little taller with a spring in their step. 

Will McAvoy was a man on a mission. Everything about him was revved up, including his libido, which frankly, MacKenzie would not have thought had any room for improvement. He laughed more. Joked with the staff more. Asked about their lives more. His reporting was upbeat. His interviews were crisp and pointed, incisive and uncompromising, but never mean-spirited or high-handed. His editorials were tightly focused, factually flawless and inspiring. Will's love for his country and belief that as Americans, we can always do better had never shown so brightly.

Three weeks into the anti-Tea Party editorials and stories, amazing things began to happen. Ratings soared, and a series of pro-Will McAvoy websites and Facebook pages began to appear. Groups supporting him sprung up on college and university campuses. One group, rumored to have begun at Northwestern, was called the Society of Greater Fools. Crowds, including many of his young supporters carrying signs, gathered every night outside of the AWM Building trying to get a glimpse of him. In deference to Mac's fears, he continued to come and go by car from the underground garage, although she knew that he was chafing at the restriction and dying to walk out and sign autographs the way he used to do.

A week later, they got word that both CNN and ABC News were preparing segments on the News Night phenomenon. Charlie and Leona green-lighted the idea that Will and Mac should cooperate fully in their efforts and agree to be interviewed by Anderson Cooper and Diane Sawyer. Mac had finally gotten comfortable with an answer about a Will, Jr. and they were about to announce the pregnancy to those staff who had been trusted to attend the stealth wedding. Finally, Dantana's lawyers seemed to be temporarily focused away from Mac since their defeat on the deposition motion. All in all, life for the McAvoys was pretty much as good as it gets.


	27. Crowd Walks

February 4, 2013

It was Diane Sawyer's insistence that they get some footage of Will with his adoring fans that finally broke through Mac's resistance to his walking out of the front door and getting into his car on the street each night. As fate would have it, the night they were taping the ABC interview happened to be the day that Jennifer, the intern who Will still tended to think of as Sorority Girl, had brought about 25 friends from Northwestern into the studio. Greater Fools all, they had thought that they would only get the chance to possibly see Will McAvoy by standing outside with the masses, and had been thrilled to be invited upstairs to meet him and MacKenzie McHale and then remain in the bull pen for the broadcast. Jennifer had impulsively given Will a kiss on the cheek when he had agreed to allow them to sit in, a gesture that was not lost on Sawyer, who had turned to Mac and observed, "that was genuine; these kids on your staff genuinely love him." 

"Yes, they do." Mac smiled Will's favorite smile.

"He says it's all you. They'd walk through fire for you and a little of it rubs off on him."

"Oh, that's not at all true. He had a reputation for being difficult a few years back, but that was just because no one around here except Charlie really knew him. I just came along and showed the others what an over-grown puppy dog he really is." Mac sighed lovingly. A heartbeat later, she turned to Sawyer with a horrified look on her face. "Don't you dare use that, Diane. Not even attributed to an unidentified source at ACN, or I swear . . . "

She was cut off by Sawyer's laughter. "Relax, Mac! I won't." Then, a mischievous light appeared in Sawyer's eyes. "What if I can get someone else to say he's an over-grown Teddy bear or puppy dog or something like it? Would that be okay?"

"Try Sloan."

It was Diane's EP who spied the banner, made out of a white bed sheet, brought in by the Northwestern group. It proclaimed them to be delegates from the Founding Chapter of the Society of Greater Fools. He ate it up with a spoon, and frankly, as an EP, Mac couldn't really blame him. He showed it excitedly to Diane and they both agreed that it would provide a fantastic segue to the origins of News Night 2.0 in Will's diatribe at Northwestern. As his popularity grew among the college crowd, the second half of Will's speech was fast mutating from infamous rant directed to one of their own to being considered patriotic and inspirational. It didn't hurt of course that the young woman Will had allegedly abused was now working for him, and Diane had gotten some great footage of Jennifer discussing how asking "the dumbest question on earth" had transformed her life into one of purpose and mission. Diane and her EP also agreed that the Greater Fools banner would provide a fine backdrop for a mention of the New York Magazine article, which Sawyer had whispered in Mac's ear that "as a wedding present," she would discuss without mention of the personal connection between Brenner and MacKenzie. Mac reflected for a moment on the conspiracy of silence surrounding her marriage in the media community and how it was really an amazing show of solidarity with AWM and against Dantana. She was brought back to the present by Diane saying forcefully that everything hinged on getting footage of Will greeting the students as they stood in the crowd with banner unfurled. In the face of all that pressure, Mac caved in and approved.

Will insisted that MacKenzie participate in the interview with Sawyer. They sat side by side at the news desk and talked about what they were trying to do in returning the show to covering only hard news with political relevance and why they were doing it. They discussed how they chose the stories to pursue and the mechanism by which they put them together. Diane asked about the checking and vetting process, which Mac suspected she was doing to help them restore some of the credibility they had lost to the Genoa debacle. When they were finished, and Diane was privately thanking them for their time, she observed that she didn't think that anyone who would watch her segment would fail to notice from their interaction that Will and Mac were obviously "crazy about each other." 

"Well then, let's hope Jerry Dantana and his lawyers aren't your fans," Mac replied, "or Leona and Rebecca Halliday will come after us all."

"Now, there's a frightening thought. But, seriously, you two sound like proud parents when you talk about the show and the staff." 

"Well, if we can raise this bunch successfully, our own children should be a snap," Will stated before Mac could silence him with a glare.

"Oh! So you're planning on children?"

"Yes." 

Diane caught sight of Mac rolling her eyes in indulgent disgust, and said, "I see. Is there something I should know?"

"Why the hell not? Everyone else does. I need to get to the control room," Mac said looking at her watch and then at her husband. "Twenty minutes to air. Will, you need to get changed so why don't you and Diane finish this conversation in the privacy of your office."

 

Will tried to get Mac to walk out of the building with him and shake hands with the crowd, but she declined, saying she'd get in the car with the driver and be there when he and Lonny arrived. After Diane texted that she and her camera crew were in place, Mac, Will and Lonny all got into the elevator. When it stopped at the lobby level, Mac kissed Will, something she still rarely did in front of Lonny, told him that she loved him desperately and asked him to "please, please stay safe." Then, she turned away quickly and hit the door close button so that he would not see the fear in her eyes or the tears that she could not control. Once she was in the car, the driver took them out to a prearranged place at the front curb and called Lonny to signal that Will could come out of the building.

Mac heard the crowd cheering and shouting. It was as if a rock star had emerged from the AWM lobby. It took Will almost 10 minutes to get to the car. The Northwestern contingent was visible and boisterous. Will stopped to answer questions from the assembled well-wishers and to sign almost all of the many pieces of paper that were thrust at him. The atmosphere was festive, and as Mac leaned forward to get a better view, even she felt like her fears that this was dangerous might be unfounded. Only the tense expression on Lonny's face reminded her that all it would take was one crackpot with a gun to end Will's life and plunge her into everlasting despair.

Will was high as a kite by the time that he got to the car, and Mac was pleased to be able to greet him with a genuine smile. Her spirits also had been buoyed by the adulation of the well-wishers who had braved an unseasonably cold night for a chance to see their hero. The genie was well and truly out of the bottle now, Mac observed to herself. Will would certainly be doing this again, and, she resolved, she would not try to stop him.

 

The interview with Anderson Cooper four days later turned out to be far more difficult than either Will or Mac had imagined, although in hindsight, Mac realized that she should have seen some of it coming. Being CNN, Cooper's EP wanted to do a few minutes of retrospective on MacKenzie's history as a CNN embed in Iraq. He had brought with him some footage that he wanted Anderson, Mac and Will to go over to pick some clips to use for the interview. Since Jim Harper had also come from CNN, and had a bit of a personal relationship with Bruce Michaels, the CNN EP, Jim was invited to join the screening and would be featured more prominently in the CNN segment on News Night than he had been in Diane Sawyer's production. 

Mac asked Herb to put the footage up on the large monitor by the news desk as Will, Anderson, Bruce, Jim and she sat down. She heard Will's sharp intake of breath before she even had the chance to look at the screen. It was raw footage, she saw, and so it began with the camera on her face as she stared almost vacantly off into the distance, waiting for her cue. She looked younger, but far thinner and more haggard, sad and shattered than she did now. The location of the footage came to her just as Cooper stated that he believed that this was her first report from Baqubah on September 6, 2007. The words, "Dear God," escaped from Will's lips in little more than a whisper, although Mac could tell from their faces, that both Cooper and Jim had heard him. She put her hand on Will's thigh to steady him, a gesture that she hoped was hidden from Bruce, who had no idea of their personal relationship. 

Will's mind was reeling from the sight of MacKenzie on the monitor. He felt physically ill. September 6, 2007. September 6th was almost three months to the day after William's birth. She clearly hadn't recovered, he thought, and then almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of that observation. She was gaunt and pale, but nonetheless beautiful, he thought, like an Emily Bronte heroine. What was she thinking behind that vacant stare? Holding the baby? The pain of labor? The blood? Or him betraying her love and trust by shaking her off and closing the door. More of that morning was coming back to him as he worked with Habib ("Billy, please, please stay. Talk to me. Billy, I love you. I can explain. Listen, please, Billy, I can explain."). While he had played her voice messages from the day William was born repeatedly until he could run them in his mind from memory, he had not gone back to his video library of her time in the Middle East. He wondered if he had this footage. Had he looked at it while she was gone and seen only the woman who he had convinced himself had betrayed him. Had he imagined that he saw happiness in her face on camera instead of the ravages of unspeakable horror that he now recognized in her eyes. 

Like the day at Northwestern, his thoughts parted slowly as if they were a dense fog, and he could hear someone, Bruce, the CNN EP, saying his name as if from a long way off. "Will. Will. Mr. McAvoy, what do you think?" He stood abruptly, the squeal of his chair wheels louder than any of the voices. 

"Excuse me. Sorry. Something I ate is disagreeing with me. I'll be right back." Ignoring the looks of surprise on everyone's faces, and the concern in Mac's touch as she allowed her hand to trail across his leg as he stood, Will fled. 

After an awkward pause, Anderson resumed the conversation and Mac agreed to the cut that he suggested. A second piece of film came up on the monitor, taken later in Mac's stay in Iraq and they chose a clip from it. Jim could feel Mac's tension level rising as the minutes passed without Will's return. They reviewed two more videos in the next five minutes, still with with no sign of Will. When the next clip that came up turned out to be video of Mac being stabbed in Islamabad, Jim stood, and putting a hand on her shoulder, said, "I'll go check on him." She nodded absently, distracted by her own thoughts and the discussion she was having with Anderson's EP. Dear God, Mac thought, I've got to stop this! We're not doing this to Will. Does he have clips of the stabbing in his collection, she wondered. Surely if Charlie and Leona were feeding him CNN footage of her in order to keep him sane, as he'd described it, they would have withheld this! She had looked at the computer folders about her only that one time in November, and hadn't seen anything from Islamabad in her casual perusal of his collection. 

As Jim walked away, he could hear MacKenzie's accent become more pronounced, as she slowly and deliberately addressed Anderson Cooper. "Absolutely not, Coop. I mean it. No video and no mention of the stabbing or the interview is off unless I'm explicitly ordered to allow it by either Charlie, Reese or Leona. Are we in agreement?" Jim smiled. Channelling the Ambassador, it was Lady MacKenzie at her most imposing. Jim had no doubt that Cooper wouldn't be pushing the issue with Mac's superiors.

It took a while, but Jim finally located Will out on the terrace. He was sitting on the stone floor with his back to the wall. His arms resting on his knees, his head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. "Jesus, Will! It's freezing out here, man. You're in just a sweater! Fuck, you're sitting in snow," Jim exclaimed, grabbing Will's arm and raising him to his feet. "Come on. Let's get inside."

"You never told me," Will mumbled so indistinctly that Jim wondered for a moment if his lips were frostbitten. 

"Never told you what?"

"That she was so . . . broken."

"Actually, I think I did. But come on," Jim dragged him to the door. "We can talk inside."

"She shouldn't have been in Iraq in September. Christ, she'd almost bled to death three months before."

"In Kabul?" Jim asked quietly as they walked down the corridor toward Will's office. When Will nodded, Jim said, "she had a miscarriage." The second part of the question was said softly, more of a statement than a question. 

The conversation was temporarily interrupted as they were about to reach Will's office door when he went into a fit of uncontrollable shivering. Once inside, Jim got him into his overcoat and at Will's direction, found and wrapped him in the blanket that Will had bought for Mac's naps. "Fuck, Will. If you get sick, Mac's going to be royally pissed."

"Can't drink." Will said absently, teeth chattering, and staring as vacantly as Mac had in the video.

"What?" Jim exclaimed in fear and irritation at the seeming non-sequitur.

"When Mac gets upset or really excited and happy, she uses pissed to mean drunk. Never mind." Will shook his head, then continued in a shaky voice, still not looking at Jim. "It wasn't a miscarriage."

"Mac tried to kill herself? No!" The thought that Dantana might be right overwhelmed and horrified Jim. Then he shook himself out of it. The dreams. He'd been there with her. He said, "but from the stuff she said in her sleep, it seemed like there was a baby.

"William. His name was William. Our son." Jim just stared transfixed at the side of Will's head, trying to make sense of the words. "She was a little over five months . . .twenty-three weeks . . . He lived a few minutes . . . She named him for me." Will turned to face Jim. "She bled . . . almost bled out before they found her."

"What do you mean before they found her? Wasn't she in a hospital?"

Will shook his head. 

"Wait!" Jim rose and loomed over Will. Anger and confusion on his face. "I . . . we . . . can't do this right now. Get up! I don't care how badly you fucked up back then, you need to get back to her now. You're not going to let her down. She's out there alone trying to hold the fort with CNN. You're Will fucking McAvoy and you need to act like it. You pull it the fuck together and go out there and make her proud." Since Will had stopped shivering, Jim pulled the blanket away as Will dragged himself to his feet and took off his coat. "Let's see your butt. It's still damp, but it's a good thing it's dark and denim. Doesn't look like you pissed your pants. Much." Jim smiled and put a hand on Will's shoulder. "Let's go."

And Will did indeed do Mac proud. He and Jim returned to Cooper, Bruce and Mac, all smiles. Will apologized for his absence and told them that he now felt fine. He recorded some remarks to be used as VoiceOver for the video clips from Iraq about how Mac's time in the field had contributed to making her one of the very best EP's in the business, and saying that more production journalists should follow her example and spend some time covering the news live. He then sat beside her and fielded Cooper's questions about News Night 2.0 with charm and candor. They wrapped up about an hour and a half before News Night was set to air. 

When Anderson Cooper went upstairs to have a drink with Charlie, and Will went off to make some final changes and notations before his script was fed into the TelePrompTer, Mac asked Jim if she could see him in her office.

"Thanks for taking care of him."

"More like kicking his butt."

"Okay," she laughed. "Thanks for that too. And, Jim, I don't feel like I've ever properly thanked you for . . . " She paused, obviously contemplating what she wanted to say. "Taking care of me, I guess. I don't think I'd be alive, or intact right now if it weren't for you. And I'm not talking about Islamabad. Until I saw my face on that video this afternoon, I hadn't really focused on what a basket case I was when I arrived on your doorstep in Iraq."

"Mac, you don't . . . "

"Yes, Jim, I do." She smiled. "I'd been through a very bad time . . . with Will . . . and . . . in Kabul . . . but you must have some idea. Will's told me some of the things I say during the nightmares. We'll talk about it. You deserve to know, but I can't really get into that right now when we've got a show to do and Anderson and Bruce are around."

"That's okay, Mac. We don't . . . I mean if you want to . . . But you don't owe me anything." He hung his head as if embarrassed by the emotions flowing between them.

She smiled at him again. "We can debate emotional debts at a later date. We need to get back to work." As he bolted for the door, she laughed. "Hold on. There is something that I want you to hear before it becomes common knowledge around here."

"Yes?"

"Will and I are going to have a baby."

"How?" he blurted out, thinking about what Will had said about her hemorrhaging and almost dying in Kabul.

"The usual way," she replied, cautiously. "You did take biology, I assume. Why are you looking at me that way? For God's sake, Jim, I'm not that old to be pregnant. I might even have time to do it again."

"No. Of, course not . . . Wait. You're pregnant? You're pregnant, Mac! Jesus, that's great. More than great. That's fantastic! Does Will know? Yes, of course, he knows. Stupid question."

"Yes, he knows. He was there, so to speak."

Suddenly, Jim was grabbing Mac up from her chair and wrapping her in his arms. "Oh, Mac! I'm so happy for you guys. Really, really happy." When he pulled back, they both had tears in their eyes. 

The show went well. Anderson Cooper, who watched in the bull pen with Charlie, complimented them both highly. Then, like Diane Sawyer, he took his crew outside to watch Will walk out and greet the nightly crowd of well-wishers. To Cooper's EP's great pleasure, CNN got the added bonus of taping some hecklers in the crowd get shouted down by Will's supporters. 

This was the fifth night in a row that Will did the crowd walk, as Lonny had dubbed the nightly trip from the lobby door to the waiting car, and Mac found that while she wasn't exactly comfortable with it, she had made peace with the fact that it was going to be part of their nightly ritual. Will continued to ask her to walk with him, and she continued to refuse on the grounds that first, no one waiting for him wanted to see his EP (to which he'd replied, then they are fools), and second, getting into the same car together night after night would soon have the gossip columnists speculating on things that would not please Rebecca.

When Will got into the car that night, he took her into his arms and buried his face against her. Lonny and the new driver studiously stared straight ahead, and Mac overcame her natural reticence to public displays of affection, and held him close. "I love you," he said. "God, I love you. I'm so sorry I ever hurt you. So so sorry."

"It's okay, Billy. Everything's okay now. Let's go home."


	28. White Linen

Will and Mac rented a house in the Hamptons for the weekend. "So we can look out on a different view from bed," Mac had teased when he told her of his plan. Will had wanted to rent a car and drive them out - just the two of them - on Saturday morning, but Lonny felt that wasn't safe. Despite his promise to MacKenzie that he would follow Lonny's instructions without argument, Will argued. Mac had intervened, telling him that she didn't like these restrictions on their lives anymore than he did, but that "the operative word in that sentence, Billy, is 'lives,' as in we still have ones to be restricted." Lonny drove them.

They bundled up on Saturday afternoon and walked a mile or two up the beach from their house. Coming from landlocked Nebraska, Will loved being by the the ocean in any season. Mac wore rolled up denim jeans, rubber boots she called Wellies, a large faded plaid flannel shirt that Will was pretty sure had once been his and an Irish fisherman knit sweater that Will assumed had most likely actually been purchased in Ireland. He loved seeing Mac dressed so casually. It turned him on every bit as much as those pencil skirts and stiletto heels. They ate and read by a fire that Will started and made love there slowly and tenderly on a huge sheepskin rug. In the shower, Will washed Mac, as he usually did if they had the time, which also allowed him to surreptitiously inspect her belly for changes. This time, he thought that he could see the first signs that her angular hip bones were becoming less pronounced and her abdomen was softer and rounder. They made hot chocolate before bed, and he cradled her gently while she fell asleep. It was the last place or time that Will expected would trigger a nightmare, especially because Mac had been having fewer in recent weeks. But shortly before dawn on Sunday morning, he awoke to the sound of his wife crying in her sleep.

He wrapped his arms around her. "Mac . . . Kenz, wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. You're fine. I'm here with you." But, she didn't wake up. Instead, she seemed to fall into a more frightening aspect of the dream, thrashing and calling out. 

"No! No!" she shrieked, "no, please . . . please . . . don't take him . . . I can't . . . leave . . . " Will sat up and pulled her against him, having discovered that she breathed better if she wasn't lying down. Sometimes, the change of position also brought her to the surface, but not this time. She continued to cry and gasp and implore some nameless person that Will was certain was not him, but someone who had been with her in Kabul, "I'm . . . sorry . . . I . . . need . . . I . . . can't . . . leave . . . him . . . Please . . . "

Will stroked her hair and kissed her face and neck. "Kenz, darling, it's okay. You don't have to leave him. Wake up, baby. Come back to me. Please wake up." He kept it up until the words lost meaning but it seemed to him that her breathing had started to slow a little and her heart was pounding less violently. He rubbed her arms and back, and kissed her lips. "Wake up, baby. Mac . . . Mackie, come back to me."

Her eyes fluttered open. "Billy?"

"Yes, Kenzie. I'm here." 

She clung to him. Tears came to her eyes. "I'm frightened, Billy."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. We're safe."

"Let me make love to you. Please. Now." Before he could respond, she curled against him and began to kiss her way down his body. She teased him with her tongue and lips and then took him into her mouth. He moaned and stroked her hair and gave himself over to the sensation. His breathing hitched as he fought the desire to simply let go. She stopped and raised her head. "Let yourself . . . Let me take you, Billy."

 

They didn't go back to sleep. As she lay with her head resting against his shoulder, he asked her about the dream. "It was jumbled up," she said. "Part of it, he was a little boy. In the dreams, I've always made him blond like you. Now, since Rosemary sent me that picture of you at five, I make him look like that. He asked me to take him home. Over and over. Why do I dream him like that?" she asked, her voice anguished. "Then, I was holding a baby. Tiny baby." She sat up abruptly, and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God. I think . . . I think, it's his body I'm holding. But he's clean. Wrapped up. But still. Too still."

"Kenz . . . " There was no way to finish his sentence, so Will just let his voice trail off. He sat up beside her and pulled her close. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. Maybe if I talk about it, the dream will stop. Someone wants to take him . . . from me. I'm scared . . . And I don't want . . . to lose him."

"MacKenzie." Will gently pulled her hands away from her face and smoothed a wisp of hair behind her ear. He hoped that he would not trigger an anxiety attack but he could not stop himself. "Kenz," he said, looking into her eyes, "I've got to ask you this. I'm sorry, but I need to know." He took a deep breath. "What happened to William's body?"

She looked at him at first as if he had spoken in a language that was foreign to her. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. For a long time she sat frozen in place. Then she spoke so softly that Will had to strain to hear her. "He was cremated. His ashes . . . are in a bank safe box . . . in Manhattan."

"You sent them back here?"

She shook her head.

"You carried them with you? Through Iraq and Pakistan?"

She nodded. "I couldn't . . . leave him."

"Will you . . . " Will's voice broke, as his own eyes filled with tears. "Will you take me . . . there . . . to the bank . . . to see?"

She put her hand to his cheek, and he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. "Of course," she said. "You're . . . his father, Billy."

 

Monday morning Lonny drove them first to Mac's old apartment, which she was slowly vacating. She retrieved the safe deposit box key, and they went to the Chase branch on Hudson Street. The box was located and they were taken to a small, sterile looking private room with chairs and a desk. MacKenzie sat down as if her legs would support her no longer. After a few pleasantries, the bank clerk used his key on the box and left. Will then took Mac's key from her hand, noticing that her fingers felt like ice, and sitting beside her, started to unlock the box.

"Wait!" She was shaking. 

"Sure, Mac, sure." He leaned over and pulled her to him, kissing her hair. "We don't have to do this today, sweetheart. It's okay if you want to come back another day," he said, fighting his own sense of urgency. Why it was this important to him to see and touch this tangible evidence of his child's brief existence he did not know.

"No!" Her reply was sharp and determined. "No," she repeated more calmly, "we're . . . here, Billy. I just . . . needed . . . need . . . a minute." He ached for the way she clung to him, her icy and quivering fingers digging into his forearm. He exulted in the feel of MacKenzie trembling from desire beneath his touch, and loathed the very idea of her shaking like this from the effort of staying sane in the face of traumatic memories of hideous pain and overwhelming grief. That she had been alone when William was born and died haunted him. 

"Okay." She sucked in another deep breath through her nose and expelled it yoga style from her mouth. "Open it. You can open it." Her voice was low and barely controlled. 

"Kenz . . . "

"Please, Billy. Do it." He did.

The box contained a variety of jewelry cases, many of which, especially the ones labeled Harry Winston, Will suspected that he had purchased. When Mac had removed her things from his apartment six years before, she had considered hers all of his gifts. He was grateful that Mac's privileged upbringing had blinded her to any thought that taking the jewelry and art he had given her would be seen by some as taking advantage of his money. Grateful since he knew that he would have seen anything she had left behind as further hurtful evidence of her rejecting him. The only thing that he had found, placed lovingly on his bedside table, was a necklace that he had given her that had been his mother's. He had returned it to her wordlessly by removing it from his tuxedo pants' pocket and clasping it around her neck after she had removed the Ailesbury jewels when they were changing into street clothes at their wedding reception. She had kissed him with painful tenderness, her eyes shining, in equally silent acknowledgment of its significance. 

The box also contained a large envelope that Will assumed were papers that she wanted to protect from fire and theft. Finally, there was a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper, secured with tape and tied with string. This had to be the thing he had come to see. He lifted it from the deposit box and set it on the table. Mac folded herself over and pressed her face into his lap. "Kenz?" he asked. She shook her head, which he took as a signal to let her be and get on with his task. The parcel had obviously travelled. The paper was stained and wrinkled. Although the twine was a bit loose, the knots that secured it around the package were pulled tight. Will assumed that it had never been opened since it was initially tied up (by Mac? by Danny?) in Kabul. He struggled to untie it, then tried to pull the string off of a corner and when that was unsuccessful, went back to attacking the knot.

MacKenzie raised her head. "You can cut it. Do you have your pocket knife?"

"I . . . I don't . . . want . . . " he stuttered.

"It's okay, Billy. It's only string." He removed his trusty Swiss Army Knife and cut the twine. She put her head back down and averted her eyes.

Slowly, he opened and removed the paper. He found that he was holding a rectangular object about 7 inches long, by 4 inches high and wide, wrapped many times around in a white linen looking cloth. So, small, he thought, so very small. As he began to unwrap the cloth, he felt Mac sit up. There was something, ink marks, no embroidery, on the edges of the cloth. Just as he pulled one entire edge free enough to recognize that the marks were Hebrew letters, he heard his wife's strangled cry. 

He turned to her and grabbed both of her upper arms as she started to sway in her chair. "Mac! MacKenzie! What is it?" he asked shifting so that he could hold her close. All of the color had drained from her face. She was deathly pale and holding her breath. "Breathe! Breathe, Kenz!" He was almost shouting, and was barely able to control himself from shaking her in his panic. "Please, please . . . Mac, take a breath." After what seemed to Will to be an eternity, she inhaled, ragged and gasping. "What's the matter, sweetheart? We can stop this. Let's stop this."

Again, she shook her head. "In . . . the . . . dream," she gasped out, ". . . baby . . . is . . . wrapped . . . in . . . white linen." She looked into his eyes, as hers filled with tears. "It's Hebrew . . . his body . . . I must have . . . held him . . . in . . . that . . . Danny . . . must have . . . " and with that, she fell apart completely. He held her and rocked her and rubbed her back until her sobbing subsided into quiet weeping. 

"Let's go, Kenz," he said, handing her a handkerchief when she seemed to be calming. Holding her in one arm, with his other hand, he started to re-wrap the small precious package that was the remains of his son. "We can come back again sometime." She reached up and tentatively touched the embroidery on a corner of the tiny shroud. Will stared at her fingers resting on the cloth. The gesture was both loving and unbearably heartbreaking. He tried to imagine her holding the baby's body in it. Finally, MacKenzie took a ragged breath and moved in a way that signaled that he was free to use both hands to wrap up the box of ashes once again. He put the paper back on and secured it as best he could and returned it to the safe deposit box.

"Okay," she whispered. "Where shall we go?"

Not to ACN, he realized. She was in no condition to pull off the morning pitch meeting. Home? "Where do you want to go?" he asked gently.

"Jake? I'd like to see Jake."

Will pulled out his phone. He texted Charlie and Jim, telling them that there was nothing to worry about but he and Mac wouldn't be able to make it in for a few hours. Could they please carry on and he'd keep in touch. Then he texted Habib and said that Mac had remembered more about Kabul and really needed him. They were coming to the office and would just wait as long as necessary. He got affirmative responses all around.

Lonny didn't say anything when Will helped MacKenzie back to the car. However, after they had driven about a third of the way to Habib's office, Will felt compelled to explain that Mac was dealing with some traumatic issues and he assumed that they could count on Lonny's discretion. Before Lonny could reply, Mac spoke. 

"Will . . . You don't need to ask Lonny to be discrete. He's seen me . . . so much worse than this."

"What? When?"

"The night we found you, Billy. I was so scared. If you had died . . . " she closed her mouth into a tight line and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "I held it together for a while, but after Charlie left, I went completely to pieces. Off my rocker. It was Jerry Dantana's wet dream. Anybody who saw me that night would have been convinced that I wasn't fit to produce a MacDonald's commercial, let alone News Night. Lonny got me out of the hospital before they locked me in the psycho ward, but I wouldn't leave the grounds with you in there, so we spent the night in the car."

"Jesus," Will breathed softly.

"Yeah," Lonny echoed.

 

Jake Habib didn't make them wait any longer than necessary. Will explained what they had been doing and what had been found wrapped around the wooden box in the tiny parcel. "Do you remember seeing the shroud before?" Habib asked Mac.

"I don't know," she replied. "The dreams are so vivid. I'm holding a tiny baby wrapped in white linen. Sometimes in the dream I think the baby is sleeping. Sometimes I think it's my niece, Tessa. But it's too small and . . . still and . . . " Mac shivered herself before she said, "cold." She had been talking with her head down, and now she looked up and met Habib's concerned expression. "Then, to see the white linen wrapping the box of William's ashes . . . It was like the dreams had come to life. But I'm not sure I can say that I remember. The Hebrew on the cloth means that it came from Danny. But . . . "

"It may take a while for the memories to come back. What do you remember of Danny, Mac? Anything while you were still in the hospital?"

She talked for a while longer, recalling Danny telling her about having operated on her to stop the bleeding. She had told Habib privately about a conversation with Danny shortly before she was released from the hospital, which she wasn't mentioning now. The omission was to protect Will, Habib assumed, since protecting Will was one of the primary motivations in MacKenzie's life. "I really don't remember much . . . I'm sorry." Then she returned to the nightmare, "the worst part of it is what's happening that I'm sure is all my imagination . . . It's where I dream that he is a child of five or six . . . and asks me to take him home . . . over and over . . . to take him home." 

What do you think you are trying to tell yourself, MacKenzie?"

"I don't know."

"Really?" Jake lowered his head just enough to communicate, "don't bullshit me, Mac" without having to say it. He's good at this, Will thought from his seat on the sidelines. Jake might be Doogie Howser, but he's damn good at what he does. He was also Abe's son and his upbringing showed. Jesus! Will thought, he was about to have a son or a daughter! Would someone ever look at his adult child and think that Will McAvoy had done a good job as a father?

" . . . that I can't suppress it anymore? That pushing everything away doesn't stop the pain . . . 'cause it sure doesn't . . . It used to . . . but it's like my brain just won't cooperate anymore . . . "

"Your mind knows that it's fulfilled it's quest," Habib countered. When Mac looked confused, he asked, "What was it that you resolved when you decided to live?" Will felt bile rise in his throat at the question. Had he driven her that close to choosing death as an end to her suffering that it was necessary for her to resolve to survive? Of courses he had. She had told him that the first day really, describing not having the will to try to save herself in the hotel room after William died. That feeling hadn't magically gone away when she woke up in the military hospital. She'd only made it sound like that for him.

"I promised Danny . . . that I would tell Billy in person . . . that he'd had a son."

"And you have. And your courage was rewarded. Will wants to participate in being William's parent with you. Now, the question is how you . . . how you both, really . . . will integrate that reality into your present and future lives; whether, although I doubt it's going to be a question of whether, but what and when you will tell this baby you are carrying about his or her brother." With that, Mac's eyes got large and round and she began to chew hard on her lower lip. Habib saw Will absently raise his hand and run a finger along her lip to stop her. "That decision," Jake continued, "raises all the same questions about bringing close friends and more extended family into the loop, although I understand you've already started with Charlie and Will's sister." Habib let his words hang in the air. Then he smiled reassuringly at MacKenzie, and said, "but don't let William push you on this, Mac. We have lots of time to work these things out. Okay?" She nodded and sighed. 

Then Will spoke to her in such a compassionate and loving tone that Jake felt moved almost to tears, "Mac, there are two wall safes in the apartment, one in the bedroom closet and the other inside the cabinet in the office. We could . . . Not today . . . And, only if you want to, of course . . . but . . . " Will felt tongue tied until he saw her smile lovingly but sadly at him. "Kenz, we could take him home."

MacKenzie raised the hand she had been holding since they had sat down together to her lips and kissed his fingers. "I think I'd like that, Billy. Yes, I think someday soon I'd like to take William home."

 

They arrived at ACN around noon. Both Sloan and Jim looked ready to pounce on Mac and make sure that she was okay, but backed off when Will gave them a quick shake of the head. Mac reviewed the stories that they had penciled in for the evening's broadcast, and after a long discussion they resolved how they would cover Pope Benedict's announcement that he would resign the Papacy and the drop in the US birthdate to an all time low. Slowly the blocks were filled, and as people joked and argued, it began to feel more like a normal day to Will. By the time Mac was tying his tie for the broadcast, she seemed fine. She even admitted that she'd benefitted greatly from the nap Will had forced her to take in his office.

Diane Sawyer's report on News Night aired that evening, and everybody gathered to watch it in the bull pen before Will's broadcast. It was great coverage of the new mission of News Night 2.0. It explained the Tea Party focus in very understandable terms and did a good job of highlighting just how careful Will and Mac were to review and vet a story before putting it on the air. Whoever edited it was clearly taken by the dynamics of Will's and MacKenzie's interactions. A close-up of Mac's face breaking into a grin at a comment Will made that was, she had to admit, extraordinarily incisive and witty, caused her to moan softly and say through gritted teeth, "we should have negotiated ultimate editorial control." Will just laughed. It was a joke since Sawyer would never have agreed to such a thing anymore than Will and Mac would if the tables were turned. "Okay. Go ahead and laugh, Billy. You can be the one to talk to Rebecca."

As it turned out, it was Charlie who spoke to Rebecca. His cell phone vibrated about 30 seconds after the segment ended. "Hello, Rebecca," he said slowly but with great bonhomie. "How are you? Yes, yes, we've all been watching." He shot Mac and Will a wicked grin. "Well, I'd say that they evidenced a cordial and collegiate working relationship." The grin widened. "Yes, the Sawyer piece. We were watching the same . . . I think that saying that they looked like they wanted to rip each other's fucking clothes off is a bit of an extreme characterization." Charlie ignored the whoops and catcalls that this statement elicited from Neal, Jim, Don and the other males in the bull pen, and soldiered on in the conversation with ACN's counsel. "Yes, yes, well, let's hope not. I believe CNN is airing their's tomorrow night on 360. I have no idea. Lovely to hear from you. I'll tell them. Goodnight." Charlie hung up and doubled over with laughter. 

 

Apparently more than a few people watched the Sawyer segment. That night as Will did his crowd walk, someone called out to him, "where's MacKenzie?"

"MacKenzie who?" he joked back.

"MacKenzie McHale," someone else shouted, and pretty soon there was a ground swell of cries for Mac.

"She's a little camera shy," Will announced, knowing full well that the woman under discussion was listening.

"She's beautiful." 

"Yea." "You bet" "Got that right." A number of voices could be heard agreeing.

"So," Will called back, "do you think I should get her out here with me one of these nights? The question was greeted by cheers, yeas and catcalls. 

"What the fuck is he doing?" Mac heard Bobby Blankenship, their driver, ask, more to himself than to her.

"Getting his way through diplomacy," MacKenzie replied. "I don't mean diplomacy as in phrasing something diplomatically so as not to ruffle feathers. I mean diplomacy as in exploiting a natural opportunity to put  
your opponent, in this case, me, at a disadvantage and to increase pressure on that person to conform to your desires, as in by tomorrow morning, I'll have Reese Lansing lobbying me to walk with Will."

"Doesn't he know that the two of you out there would make Lonny's job just about impossible?" 

"He's not thinking about danger, Mr. Blankenship, he's being adored by his public."

Blankenship snorted. "Lonny'll talk some sense into him."

 

The Anderson Cooper 360 story on News Night aired ironically from 8:00 to 9:00 on Tuesday, so that it was directly up against News Night with Will McAvoy. After Will's show, everyone, including Reese, Leona and Rebecca, gathered to watch it on the monitors in the bull pen. Will McAvoy and MacKenzie McHale came off like the caped crusader and his trusty side kick, except, as Will pointed out, in this case, it was "her trusty sidekick." The Iraq footage and commentary wasn't overdone, but it made Mac appear (rightly so) to have been willing to risk her life to ascertain the facts of what was happening to US forces engaged in the Iraq mission. It provided her a vehicle for one of her favorite rants, which she delivered charmingly, reminding every one that there is no need to say "true facts" because there is no such thing as a "false fact." The word fact itself is defined to include the element of truth. "For something to be a fact, it must have happened within our space-time continuum. As such, it doesn't change and isn't susceptible to our wishes. It simply is," she told Cooper's viewers. Later, when Mac took issue with one of Anderson's characterizations of their mission at News Night, everyone, apparently including Anderson Cooper from the expression on his face, had the pleasure of seeing why she had been chosen to helm the Cambridge Union.

There was one clip of her in a t-shirt, fatigue pants and boots that Neal said made her look like Angelina Jolie as Laura Croft. Mac almost retorted that this is only because the both of them looked anorexic, but caught herself when she realized that Will would already be fixated on her lack of weight and no good could come from pointing it out to everyone else. Another clip of Mac in a tank top, guy's shorts and combat boots made Neal whistle, moan and say, "my god, Mac, you were hot!" and then bumble through an attempted explanation that he didn't mean any disrespect or that she was no longer hot, just that he'd never seen . . . He was interrupted by Will suggesting that he quit while he was ahead, not to mention alive. Gary asked Neal if he'd always been drawn to women in uniform. 

Everyone was in a festive mood, even Rebecca, who about mid-way through the segment, smiled broadly and sighed, "what the fuck" to Leona and Charlie who were beside her. Charlie looked at Will who was standing with Mac leaning against his chest, as they watched themselves answering Anderson's questions about how frightening it must have been to take a known product like News Night and revamp it off into a new direction. It occurred to Charlie that it was unlike Mac to participate in such a public display in the newsroom, especially with Lee and Reece present, and he assumed that she felt that Will needed the comfort of her against him to view these images that brought him so close to the reality of the baby . . . the first baby, Charlie corrected himself, a slight smile for the future playing on his lips. He wondered if Mac realized that she too needed the comfort of Will's body. Screw HR, Charlie thought. He loved the fact that his boy was so strong and happy now in his work and in his life. 

Neal sat at his computer, sent out his virtual tentacles and confirmed that they were not wrong in their assessment that both interview segments had been unqualified PR successes. That led to the subject of Will's crowd walks, and whether there was any measurable data from which to gauge if they were worth the risk. All of the anecdotal evidence from Neal's monitoring of the ACN blog, Tweets and Facebook and whatever else he kept track of indicated that it probably was, at least depending on how "one measured the risk," MacKenzie observed dryly. Will and Reece pressed her to join Will on the walks now that Anderson Cooper had turned her into an action heroine. She enlisted Rebecca to agree with her concern that getting into the same car with Will every night would have tongues wagging in short order. So, they'd get into separate cars, and meet up later or just drive home that way, Reece had countered. Finally, Mac played the Lonny card, stating simply that she wasn't going to decide anything without consulting with their "chief of security" who was scheduled to arrive any minute.

There was a long discussion between Lonny, Will, Mac, Reece and Charlie, with various others, including Sloan, Don, Jim, Neal, Leona and Rebecca weighing in occasionally. ("When the hell did this place become a democracy?" Charlie asked. "When you let her back in," Will replied, gesturing at his wife.) Lonny, of course, was opposed to anyone, including Will, walking outside where someone could take a shot at them. At one point, Will argued in impassioned tones that he and Mac simply could not live their lives "like somebody's prey." To which, Lonny had rolled his eyes Heavenward. Finally, as a result of a side conversation that Sloan was having with Mac about the fact that this Thursday was the second anniversary of the Rudy Hug, they hit on a compromise. After the show on Valentine's Day night, there would be a massive crowd walk by Will, Mac, Charlie, Sloan, Jim, Reece and anyone else who cared to join. Lonny would be augmented by a ton of extra AWM security. Will, Mac and Charlie would all get into the same car to minimize speculation that Will and Mac were going off together. Then, everyone was invited to a Valentine's Day party at Will's, complete with a screening of the movie Rudy, a re-enactment by the host and hostess of the famous Rudy Hug, and, Mac decided privately but did not say, announcement of her pregnancy.


	29. Waive to Them, Mackie

Saint Valentine's Day, Thursday, February 14, 2013.

Anthony Diamanté, 56, of Cleveland, Ohio, stood shivering behind a police barricade that had been hastily erected outside the AWM building for crowd control. He asked himself yet again what the fuck he was doing standing for hours in a sleeting snowy rain on a New York sidewalk freezing his balls off. In town for a convention of Certified Public Accountants, he had now spent the better part of his one free evening outlasting those of fainter heart or lighter wardrobe, and worming his way to the front of the assembled multitude in order to get unobstructed access to, and he sincerely hoped, an autograph from Will McAvoy. Although he was a regular, and, he felt, loyal viewer of News Night, he was not doing this for himself, but rather, as was fitting on Valentine's Day, for true love. His wedding anniversary was the following week, and his lovely wife of 28 years, the mother of his two twenty-something daughters and one teenaged son, an otherwise level-headed and competent nursing supervisor at the prestigious Cleveland Clinic, was completely, insanely and hopelessly in love with Will McAvoy. She not only watched News Night with religious devotion, she recorded each broadcast for future reference. She had practically memorized both the ABC and CNN profiles of News Night 2.0. The autograph, if he could only obtain it, would be the piece de resistance of a lifetime of anniversary presents. It would also, as it turned out, save Will McAvoy's life. 

Diamanté turned to the young man next to him, with whom, he'd been speaking off an on for the last few hours. He knew that the boy (Tony couldn't think of him as a man) was named David something, Henderickson, he thought. He was a "poli-sci" major at NYU, from suburban Boston, and twelve days shy of his twenty-first birthday. He was also an officer in NYU Greater Fools, and thought it very cool that Tony knew about the group. They had talked about the interview that Diane Sawyer had done with the president of the Northwestern chapter, and whether he was correct in saying that McAvoy's statement about "the Worst. Period. Generation. Period. Ever. Period" was simply one of those things that had to be forgiven and moved on from unless you wanted to squander the enormous amount of benefit that there was to be had from everything else about Will McAvoy that was valuable and worthy of emulation. (When Will and Mac re-watched the Sawyer broadcast at home, Mac had grabbed the remote and paused it there, and climbing onto Will's lap facing him, she pointed out in no uncertain terms, that it "pissed her off royally" that this pearl of wisdom was "fucking obvious" to someone who was "practically a child," and yet it took him "so fucking long to figure it out" where she was concerned. The sting of her anger, however, was mitigated for both of them by Will's hands running up and down her naked body under her cashmere robe while she spoke.)

Hoping to eliviate his boredom, Diamanté said to the side of David's head, "what do you think of MacKenzie McHale?" David turned to Tony and his face lit up.

"She's so brilliant! She was President of the Cambridge Union debating society! That's like John Maynard Keynes, for Christ's sake. Everyone one knows that she's the reason for News Night 2.0. She's brave too. It took guts to go to Iraq, but if journalists don't go to where it's happening, we'll only know what the government wants to tell us. And then she came back and wouldn't tolerate the bullshit media anymore. I guess that initially McAvoy didn't want her, at least that's what that guy wrote in that magazine."

"My wife says she's in love with McAvoy . . . MacKenzie McHale, that is. Well, my wife too, but I was talking about MacKenzie." David snickered at Tony's joke. He'd heard all about Tony's wife and the anniversary earlier. "Do you remember that part on Anderson Cooper 360 about changing the direction of the show when McAvoy is talking about feeling like Sundance up on the ledge with Butch Cassidy telling him to jump in the river, and then he says that it was all about trusting Mac, and how he just grabbed the other end of MacKenzie's gun belt and jumped? Ellie claimed that she could tell that MacKenzie's in love with McAvoy from the way she looked at him while he was saying all that. But then, Ellie's a romantic."

"I remember that part. Do you know there were tens of thousands of hits on YouTube within minutes of that with people watching that clip from the movie?" David asked, making Tony feel old since he had been a kid, as he imagined McAvoy had also been, sitting in a darkened movie theater the first time he saw Redford and Newman in that scene. "There could be worse things than MacKenzie McHale in love with you," David added, trying to sound older than his years, and more experienced with women than Tony suspected he actually was.

Diamanté thought about the images of McHale he'd seen on TV and in newspaper articles covering the recent media interest in News Night. She was extremely attractive, and, he knew, insanely smart. Wouldn't be hard to fantasize about that body, or that face. Maybe two can play at this game, he thought, suddenly wondering if his wife ever pretended at delicate moments that he was Will McAvoy. "Yeah," he replied, "but isn't McAvoy supposed to be something of a womanizer?"

"That's hinted at in the New York Magazine article," David replied. "He's dated a lot of people. Erin Andrews for a while. But, you know, he's single, so what's the deal. Personally, I think that guy, what's his name, who wrote that article had it in for Will. He said somewhere that he had some personal relationship with MacKenzie. Maybe she dumped him for Will? No, not likely 'cause I heard somewhere else that he also said Will picked him personally to write it. I don't know. I don't get it."

"It's almost 9:30." Tony changed the subject. "News Night's been over for a while. He should be coming out soon. Also, those three guys who just arrived look like security to me."

About three or four people up from the street end of the barricade where David Hendrickson and Tony Diamanté stood talking, Harry Shiner tested out the video recorder on his new phone. It was supposed to have better resolution than any other cell phone camera out there, and he was excited to see if he could capture some good video of Will McAvoy and the crowd of people waiting for his appearance. Like the man himself, Harry hailed from a small town in Nebraska, and had always felt an affinity for McAvoy. A journalism major in the middle of his senior year at the University of Missouri, Harry was hoping that if he could edit the footage he would get tonight into a video montage, maybe even add a music track, he could get to someone on McAvoy's staff (probably not McHale, but hell, he can dream, can't he?) and have them look at it, and more importantly, at him as a potential employee. He had invested hours in getting and keeping a place at the front of the crowd, just behind the barricade. He had taken video of the AWM building and of the crowd as it had grown during the evening, and some close ups of interesting faces he had seen among the people gathered there. All he needed was for McAvoy himself to emerge from the lobby.

 

Upstairs, after the show had wrapped and everybody had decompressed for a few minutes, Lonny stood like some sort of crazy wedding planner organizing a receiving line, while the News Night crew determined the order in which they would walk from the building. Obviously, Will and Mac would go first since they were the big attraction and Lonny wanted them through it, in the car and gone as quickly as possible. Also, they needed to get home and help Loraine put the finishing touches on the party scene before the others arrived. Since Charlie was riding with them, he'd be right on their heels. Sloan would be next since she was News Night's other regular on air personality and had quite a following in her own right. Reece would go with Sloan because Reece was, well, Reece. Jim, Maggie and Gary would follow with Tess, Kendra, Jennifer and Neal.

Lonny's phone buzzed and he checked his text messages. "Extra security's in place," he announced. "We can start down whenever we're ready."

"Okay," Mac replied, "let's get this over and done. I'll get my coat and gloves." She wiggled the ring finger of her left hand when Will looked at her strangely at the mention of gloves. "Got to keep this under wraps or Rebecca will have our heads tonight for a snack." 

"Maybe you should take your rings off." Will said, following her to her office. She had taken them off for both the Sawyer and Cooper interviews after she had twice required Sawyer's people to shoot retakes because she had forgotten and raised her left hand to gesture as she answered Diane's questions. "It will be easier to sign your name if you don't have to wear gloves."

"No," she responded so quickly and decisively that Will raised his eyebrows in surprise at her vehemence. "It feels wrong. Like it would be bad luck or something. Besides, I doubt anyone will ask for my autograph, and if they do, I can sign in gloves. I know you take your ring off."

"Does that bother you?" When she didn't reply, he continued. "You know I wouldn't except that I can't write well in gloves. And I hate them."

She nodded. Will put his arms around her. Mac wrapped hers tightly around him and snuggled against him as she had on this day two years earlier. How had he been so insane, Will thought. Why hadn't he just told her then about the emotions, the love and desire, that were coursing through his body at the feel of hers pressed against him? On some level he had recognized in that moment that all he wanted in life was for her to stay in his arms and for it to never end. Then, he had reminded himself that forgiveness was weakness and knew, if only subconsciously, that John McAvoy preyed on weakness. Oh, God! Why was he so twisted up? What could this woman ever do that could not be forgiven to preserve the miracle that they had together? But he didn't speak of any of that. 

"You never seem to tire of me," he said instead, "tire of me touching you." She leaned back and looked at him seriously for a moment and then shook her head slowly and gave him her best "you're an idiot, Billy" smile.

"Right after I tire of breathing, Billy. That's when I'll tire of your touch." Will kissed her, and left to get his jacket.

 

Charlie appeared in the bull pen in his top coat, and was joined by a variety of other staffers who were also ready to leave. A moment later, Reece appeared, and then, Will wearing his signature after show attire, consisting of jeans, shirt and sweater and a leather jacket. Finally, Mac emerged from her office wearing a camel's hair coat over her wool crape trousers and thin pigskin gloves. 

"Okay, everybody," Lonny said, "listen up," and gave them some last minute instructions on timing, "it's just like walkin' in a wedding, you don't start out the door until the last of the group in front of you has reached their destination. Ms. Sabbith and Mr. Lansing, don't go, 'till you see Mr. Skinner about to get into the car." They both nodded obediently. "Okay, we can head out." The whole group, as one, started to move towards the corridor and the elevators.

 

The crowd roared at the sight of Will and Mackenzie emerging from the AWM building lobby. In fact, there were so many whistles and calls for Mac, that Will joked, "don't I get any cheers for bringing her out here?" It was all somewhat surreal for Mac, who had never been comfortable in the limelight. It reminded her of being a very little girl and going to church one Easter Sunday in Surrey while her grandfather was still alive. The population of the whole village it seemed was standing along the lane leading up to the small church to see the old Earl and his family walk by. "Waive to them, Mackie," her father, who was holding her white-gloved hand, had leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Why?" she had asked softly. "Because their families have known ours for a very long time, and Easter is a time to be friendly," Ted McHale had told her, doing his best to put an egalitarian spin on things, Mac recalled with a fond smile.

As she walked the line, signing numerous autographs despite her gloves, Mac began to feel less ridiculous. Some of the people, especially, the university students, shouted out good questions that she would have liked to have had more time to answer. In fact, it occurred to her that Will had not created one kid from the end of Camelot, but thousands of them. Finally, to Lonny's everlasting relief, they were nearing the street side of the barricade, where the car was waiting. They both stopped to have a few words with an intense young man, who's name they would later learn was David Hendrickson. Getting impatient, Lonny gestured for Mac to head for the car. McAvoy's hand reached out and for a split second rested on McHale's arm as a look passed between them. It was a look that after 28 years of marriage Tony Diamanté recognized very well. A look that could only pass between a couple who shared a bone-deep intimacy. McHale clearly wanted McAvoy to go to the car with her, Tony thought. He thought of Ellie and how pleased she would be when he told her that he was pretty sure she was right about Will and MacKenzie. Ellie! Just then he realized that his day dreaming was about to cost him his chance for an autograph. 

"Mr. McAvoy!" Tony shouted as loud and distinctly as he could, hoping to be heard over the noise of the crowd. "My wife loves you madly. It's our anniversary. Will you sign this as an anniversary present?" Tony held out the piece of expensive writing paper he had bought for the occasion. He wasn't sure that Will had heard him, until just as McAvoy was reaching the end of the crowd, he separated from McHale, who continued on to the curb, and darted back toward Tony.

"Sure," Will said. "What's her na . . . " Will's question was never finished, as Tony Diamanté heard a rapid popping sound that he could not identify. 

But Charlie Skinner could. Only too well. A semi-automatic weapon was being discharged. Charlie's boot camp drill Sargent would have been proud of the speed with which he hit the ground. Time seemed to slow down, as it had always done for him in combat. Charlie thought he heard a round go through metal, another sound he knew too well, and then he heard the unmistakable grunt and explosion of breath that a man makes when a small slug of lead that has no business anywhere near the human body enters it at extreme velocity and with terrible destructive force. The sound came more than once, Charlie thought, and, his blood turned cold. One of the voices wasn't a man's. It was a woman's. He felt sure. 

For Tony, several things happened within a split second of the first popping sound. A large black man, screaming, "get down! Everybody get down!" appeared out of nowhere and knocked Will McAvoy to the ground. At that moment, David Hendrickson collapsed against Tony, whose knees buckled from the unexpected weight, knocking David under the barricade and onto McAvoy, blood pouring from a large hole in the boy's abdomen. Tony saw Will's horrified look as he clutched David's crumpled body. Then, McAvoy looked toward the car at the curb, and let out the guttural scream of an evicerated animal. Before, Tony could even look in the same direction, the world, in the form of one of the huge plate glass windows in the AWM building lobby, exploded. 

A ricochet, Charlie thought, pulling up his coat to shield his head and face from the flying shards of glass. He knew that contrary to Hollywood's depictions, a bullet fired cleanly into glass will go right through making a bullet sized hole. Only a deformed bullet that had already struck and been deflected by something else would create the kind of forces that would shatter glass. Then other than human sounds, shouting, screaming, crying, moaning and shuffling, Charlie heard nothing. The gunfire had ceased. He raised his head, and saw her.

She was half sitting, half lying against the car's rocker panel and open rear door. It looked to Charlie as if she had gone down while getting into the car. Was that the bullet or bullets that he'd heard going through metal? Please God, he prayed silently, let her have been hit by a bullet ricocheting or one whose power was partially spent getting through the car door. That she had in fact been hit was apparent from the red stain that was spreading across the bodice of her camel colored coat, but, from where Charlie lay, there did not appear to be any abdominal wounds, and when he saw her try to move and cough, Charlie knew that MacKenzie was still breathing. 

Tony brushed shards of glass from his clothes, grateful that he was so bundled up in a hat, scarf and gloves, in addition to his coat. As he looked around, he caught Will McAvoy's pained and dazed expression as he looked from the bleeding boy he had shielded from the glass and the woman lying by the car. Sweet Jesus, Tony prayed, as he saw her. MacKenzie McHale had been hit. That had been Will McAvoy he had heard screaming in agony just before the window blew. Tony reached for David, "Will," he said, "I'll take him. You go to her." Will's head turned in Tony's direction. If he lived to be 100, Anthony Diamanté thought that he would never forget the gratitude, fear and sorrow that he saw in Will McAvoy's eyes at that moment.

Sirens could be heard in the distance, and there had been no shots fired since the first volley. Lonny, who went down facing the AWM building and his charge, had heard a scuffle off to his left in the crowd, but he had no idea whether that meant that the shooter had been disarmed or apprehended. So, when he saw Will start to stand up, Lonny reflexively shouted for him to "stay the fuck down." He never in a million years intended to precipitate what happened next, and he stared in horror as Will obeyed him by crawling on his hands and knees through a blanket of broken glass the fifteen feet it took him to get to where MacKenzie lay. That was the first Lonny had seen of her. He'd just assumed that she had made it safely into the car. Feeling panic and fear well up as it had never done before on the job, Lonny crouch-walked to her side. He arrived seconds after Will.

Will crawled to her and touched her face. Mac opened her eyes. "Billy," she said, starting to cry, "Billy, you're safe . . . you're okay . . ." He tried to lift her, but stopped when she gasped sharply and cried out in pain.

"Mac," Lonny interrupted, collecting himself, "let me look at where you're hurt." He gently opened her coat. "Okay," he breathed, "okay. They didn't get you too bad. It's a bad graze, kinda under your arm. Does it hurt to breathe?"

"Yes, can't take a deep . . . " she winced as she tried to breathe more deeply, and ended up coughing out a fine spray, almost mist of blood and saliva. Will grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her lips. She took it from him and covered her mouth, as another fit of coughing took her. She tried to conceal the blood stain it put on the cloth, but Will took it from her, looking first at Mac and then at Lonny as he began to shake.

"The ambulance will be here soon. Everything's gonna be okay," Lonny said with more conviction than he felt. He turned to Will, who was plainly going into shock. "Will, let's try to get Mac into a more comfortable position. One where she might cough less. Sit behind her and let's get her against you." Will complied, sitting against the rear wheel, as Lonny helped move Mac slowly until she was leaning into her husband. Mac had closed her eyes, and was breathing more shallowly and rapidly, the move having clearly exhausted her resources.

Lonny spoke again, asking her if she could press her arm down on the wound to slow the bleeding. 

"I . . . can try." She howled in pain. Will looked terrified.

"Mac, I think either the bullet got your lung or it got a rib that pierced a lung. You may cough up some more blood, but don't get scared. You're gonna be fine. You've got another lung that's workin' fine. Just try to take shallow even breaths. That will keep your blood oxygen levels up." Will's silence worried Lonny, who looked pointedly first at Mac and then at Will. "You are going to be fine, Mac. Nothing, and I repeat, nothing, bad is going to happen because of this. Believe that. Okay?" Mac nodded, feeling pretty sure that either Lonny had figured out or Will had told him she was pregnant. Will had one arm up against the arm Mac had pressed to her side to control the bleeding and with his other hand, he stroked the side of her face, but since the palms of his hands were bleeding, he was also smearing her face with his blood. 

"Here, man," Lonny said, reaching for Will's hand, "let me wipe . . . Christ, McAvoy, they're gonna be picking glass out of you for a month. . . Here, we can at least get you cleaned up a little."

Will looked over to where Charlie was assisting the guy who wanted the autograph with the boy who had been shot. "Lonny," he whispered, "that kid over there. He was shot in the stomach. Make sure he gets the first ambulance. I'm afraid . . . " Will's voice broke, "he's not going to make it. We'll be okay, here." So, that had registered, Lonny thought. Thank God.

 

Sirens screaming, a half dozen police cars and multiple ambulances arrived almost simultaneously. The EMTs from one of them got to Mac quickly, and immediately put an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Looking at Will, the lead EMT asked, "what's her name?"

"Kenz . . . MacKenzie McHale," Will answered, his voice quavering.

"The producer who was just on TV?" he asked before he caught himself. "Age?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Allergies? Medical conditions? Medications? Anything special we should know?"

"No allergies other than pollens, I think." Suddenly, Will felt like he didn't know anything at all about Mac. He couldn't think. Medical conditions? "She has a heart murmur. You know the valve thing."

"Mitral valve prolapse?"

"Yes. Yes, that's it. She's not taking any medications. Just vitamins."

"Nothing at all? Not for her heart?" Will shook his head. "Are you sure you know?" the EMT questioned.

"Yes, I'm sure. She takes nothing."

"Oh, come on. When was the last time she had an aspirin?"

"Sometime before the end of November. She's pregnant. Thirteen weeks." Hiding his surprise, the EMT called for an oxygen saturation monitor, which was delivered by another EMT who removed the glove on her right hand and clipped it onto Mac's finger. He looked at the read out and increased the flow of oxygen to MacKenzie's mask. 

"Dennis," he hollered to his assistant who had returned to the ambulance. "Get the fetal monitor ready. We'll put it on when we get her inside." He looked at the panic plainly evident in Will's eyes that his request had engendered. "You're the dad?" Will nodded. "But, you're . . . " Will's glare silenced him. He turned to look at Mac. "Ms. McHale, don't get scared if I don't get a heartbeat right away. It's an old external monitor and I'm not an obstetrician and you're not very far along. Okay?" Mac nodded. He looked at Will. "Okay?" Will found himself unable to speak or move as the consequences of MacKenzie losing this baby took hold of his mind. The head EMT, who introduced himself as Mike, reached out and squeezed Will's shoulder.

They got Mac onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, just as the one carrying David Hendrickson screamed away from the curb. Tony Diamanté had lied to the EMTs and claimed to be David's father in order to be allowed to accompany him to the hospital. Tony figured that the truth would come out eventually, but if the boy was going to die on the way, Tony would be damned if he'd die without someone holding his hand. The EMT in Mac's vehicle, who was monitoring the radio, called out to Mike that they were prepping the OR at Beth Israel, assembling the teams and would be ready for her upon their arrival. 

The OR! The import of the words made it through to Will's fuzzy consciousness. Surgery! They were going to operate on MacKenzie! "Operate?" he said aloud, looking at Mike who was in the process of taking the glove off of Mac's left hand. "Is that safe for the . . . "

"Jesus!" Mike interrupted, as he uncovered Mac's hand and stared at the band of tiny diamonds and rock sized solitaire on her third finger. "Excuse me, what did you say?"

"Why surgery?" Will gasped out, although he knew perfectly well why.

"They need to stop the bleeding, see the extent of the damage to Ms . . . er . . . to your wife's lung, repair it and clean the wound."

"Can they do it safely for . . . I mean . . . Is there any risk to . . . " Will seemed either to be unable to hold a coherent thought or bring himself to say the words, baby or fetus.

"They operate on pregnant women all the time, if that's what you're asking?" Will nodded.

Mike and the other EMT opened the top of Mac's trousers and pulled them down to expose her abdomen. "Nothing, no twinges or anything down here?" he asked as he fastened the belt holding the monitor around her. Mac shook her head and squeezed Will's hand. He knew she was trying to reassure him, but all Will could think was how weak her grip had become. After working the monitor in a few different positions, Mike looked at the readout and said, "Bingo! We got it!" Will saw Mac close her eyes and tears leak from the sides. He bent down and kissed them away. 

"How fast?" Will asked very softly, gesturing at the last minute for Mike to show and not tell him.

Mike handed the monitor to Will. 139 . . . 140 . . . 141 . . . 138 . . . 

"Slow. It was 162 at the doctor's office," Will whispered, terrified, and hoping Mac wouldn't hear.

"Momma hadn't just been shot then," Mike muttered, his mouth near Will's ear for the same reason. "139, 140 is really good under the circumstances. I'd say the kid's strong." Strong, Will thought, strong, the word Kenz had used to describe the newborn William. "Sit over there," Mike gestured to a jump seat, "you can still hold her hand, but strap in. We're about to rock and roll."

 

Harry Shiner had been filming MacKenzie McHale and Will McAvoy greeting and bantering with the crowd, and then turning for their car when the shooting started. Like everyone around him, he dove to the sidewalk. Terrified, he froze for a second, especially when he saw the guy three people away from him clutch his belly in surprise and crumple to the ground. Think! Harry commanded himself. Think like a journalist! His new phone had hit the ground hard, and for a second he feared that it had broken, but then, when he re-engaged camera mode, it worked. And, so, forcing himself to breathe as slowly as he could to steady his hands as much as was possible, Harry Shiner began to record the events around him. The kid lying on Will McAvoy. McAvoy's crawling to MacKenzie McHale. McAvoy's holding her, and talking to the black dude. Charlie Skinner assisting with the wounded kid. The ambulances. The police. There was no time to edit, Harry thought, not knowing whether anyone else had been filming and might beat him to the virtual world punch. So, still sitting on the sidewalk, his fingers trembling, Harry Shiner posted his video on YouTube and sent the links to ACN, CNN and the major networks. By the time that Mac and Will arrived at the Beth Israel Emergency Entrance, Harry's video of Will McAvoy crawling over broken glass to reach MacKenzie McHale had gone viral.


	30. Telephone Lines

At 10:23 PM, on Valentine's Day, Rivka Shivitz stood swaying to and fro in the kitchen of her Westchester County home, holding her very fussy four-month-old son, Avi, in one arm, and trying to listen to the television commentator describing that evening's events at the AWM Building in Manhattan. Since Avi had been born, she usually wasn't up after 10 at night, or, if she was, she was not watching television. Now she was glued to the screen. The man whose face she saw there was clearly suffering great emotional pain. Rivka wasn't that familiar with Elliot Hirsch, but she was trained and had practiced as a psychologist before the baby, and she found his struggle for composure both admirable and fascinating. Before Avi, she had watched Right Now a few times, usually when she knew in advance that someone she wanted to see would be a guest. She was aware that Hirsch, like Wolf Blitzer and Ted Koppel, was one of only a handful of prominent TV anchors who were Jewish. 

As was usual for unscripted "breaking news" broadcasts, Hirsch was repeating himself, "for those of you who have just joined us, this is the situation as we know it. Tonight, at approximately 9:52, Eastern Standard Time, a lone gunman opened fire with a semi-automatic weapon, as Will McAvoy, anchor and Managing Editor of News Night, the signature nightly news broadcast of this network, and MacKenzie McHale, News Night's Executive Producer, accompanied by Charlie Skinner, Director of the News Division here at ACN, were walking from the building lobby to their waiting car. The shots, believed to have been aimed at McAvoy, tore through the crowd of about 200 News Night fans, who were assembled along police barricades to the right of the lobby doors. A bullet also struck and shattered one of the large lobby plate glass windows, showering the sidewalk with shards of broken glass."

Hirsch paused, and then continued, "The lone gunman was disarmed and apprehended by two ACN security guards, one of whom was wounded in the scuffle. They were assisted by numerous members of the assembled crowd. Reliable witnesses reported that while the gunman was being subdued and until he was turned over to police, he kept up a constant rambling dialogue that, among other things, denounced Will McAvoy as a communist and the anti-Christ."

"Three people were hit by gunfire. A college-student, standing along the police barricade, who only moments before, according to witnesses, was talking to McAvoy and McHale, was struck in the abdomen. Two employees of ACN were also hit, the security guard, who was struck in the leg while apprehending the suspect, and (Hirsch faltered for a second, Rivka noted) MacKenzie McHale, who was struck in the chest. All three have been transported to local hospitals. Both the student, whose name is being withheld until his parents can be notified, and Ms. McHale are being prepped for surgery. The security guard, whose injury is not life-threatening is being treated in the emergency room, and is expected to be released tonight. In addition, approximately twenty-three people reported injuries from flying glass, none of which are life threatening. Most were treated at the scene, and a few have been taken to local hospitals."

"ACN has received video showing the immediate aftermath of the shootings," Hirsch continued. "This video was taken by another student in the crowd, Harry Shiner, a journalism major at the University of Missouri. We would like to play Mr. Shiner's video for you now. I should warn you that it is very graphic and upsetting. Here are tonight's events as captured by Mr. Shiner." 

Rivka stared transfixed as the amateur, but remarkably clear, video played. Even Avi, who was either teething or having a week-long bout of colic (the older women in the congregation couldn't decide which), quieted down as if mesmerized by the images on the screen. The video opened with a pan of people lying or crouching on the ground, while the soundtrack echoed with a cacophony of screams, cries, shouts and moans. The video then zoomed in on Will McAvoy, lying beside a young man who had awkwardly fallen against the news anchor like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut. McAvoy had a dazed expression on his face, and was brushing glass off of the youth with shaky and disjointed motions. As Rivka watched a dark stain on the young man's clothes spread with alarming rapidity. Then, an older man crawled a few feet under the barricade toward them and could be seen speaking to McAvoy. Will McAvoy started to rise, but fell back, when a voice could be heard shouting, "stay the [bleep] down." Then suddenly, McAvoy darted forward, crawling on his hands and knees through the broken glass. For a split second, the video lost McAvoy, and then refocused on him as he moved rapidly across the sidewalk toward an SUV parked at the curb. The back door of the car was open and a thin, dark haired woman lay on the side walk, against the car. 

The video zoomed in, just as McAvoy reached her, and Rivka could see a dark stain on the side of her coat that seemed to be spreading out from under her right arm. McKenzie McHale, Rivka thought. McAvoy touched McHale's face and Rivka saw her head move. McAvoy seemed even more disoriented to Rivka, judging from the halting way he stroked the the side of McHale's body. Shock, she thought. Then, the video zoomed in on MacKenzie, and even though the quality degraded significantly, Rivka could see the love and relief that suffused the woman's expression as she realized that McAvoy was with her. McAvoy seemed to be trying to get his arms around her but stopped when it was obviously causing her pain. Then, a large dark man, walking in what Rivka always thought of as a duck walk, arrived and obscured much of the view of McHale and McAvoy. The video cut away back to the young man by the barricade. Another older man had joined the guy who had taken the boy over from McAvoy. Just then, Rivka's attention was diverted by her sleepy, pajama bottom-clad, barefoot husband entering the kitchen, yawning and stretching. 

"Abba," she said, "what are you doing up?" Before he could answer, Avi squealed a loud piercing cry. Rivka turned her attention back to him and said, "look, Avi, Abba's here." Then, looking back to her husband, she asked again, "so, why are you up?"

"The hospital," he said flatly, as if that explained everything, and took the baby from her. "Command performance. They're bringing in some VIP for surgery who's pregnant."

"Not your patient?" Rivka asked. "Then, why you?"

"It's some sort of an emergency. She was injured or something. I don't know. I was half asleep during the call, but I sure got that they want me there as soon as possible. One of the perks of greatness." He smiled and kissed her lightly. "Make me some coffee, while I dress?" He handed Avi back to her and left the room.

Rivka shook her head. She knew her husband was a brilliant physician. The youngest practitioner ever appointed a department head at Beth Israel. But he had just finished a grueling high risk delivery and was scheduled for some downtime. As she scooped coffee grounds into the brewer, she mused that it was probably just wishful thinking on her part that the Chief of Obstetrics would get to spend more time with his family than a regular staff doctor. But, he loved his work - he had defied his rabbi father's wishes by going to medical school - and it made him happy and that counted for a lot in a marriage.

As Rivka was pouring the coffee into a travel thermos mug for the trip to the City, the front doorbell rang. It jarred her nerves a bit given the lateness of the hour, but thankfully didn't set Avi off again, who had been sitting happily in his bouncy seat on the kitchen counter while she prepared her husband's coffee. She opened the door to find a New York State Police Trooper standing there, who introduced himself and hastily informed her, when he saw her go pale, that he had been sent to escort Dr. Shivitz to Beth Israel Medical Center. She asked him to step in while her husband finished getting ready. When the doctor appeared, the Trooper explained his presence again.

"Well, this is a first," Shivitz observed.

"Arranged through the Governors office, I think," the Trooper replied.

"Who is this patient?" the doctor mused more to himself than to his wife or the State Trooper.

"Don't know. Speculation at headquarters is that it might be one of the victims of the ACN shooting," the officer answered nonetheless.

"What shooting?" Shivitz was obviously more confused than ever.

"Sir, I think we really need to go," the Trooper said respectfully. "Put on your car radio and you'll hear. What kind of car do you drive?"

"A Porsche Boxster," Shivitz replied while kissing Rivka and Avi.

The Trooper laughed appreciatively. "I'll try to keep up."

 

In the master bedroom of a modest but nicely appointed townhouse in the Bloomsbury section of London, Julian McHale came slowly to consciousness. He grabbed blindly for the ringing phone, his glasses and his watch in that order. "Hello," he said into the phone, putting on his glasses and observing that according to his watch, it was 4:07 GMT in the morning. As he waited the split second that it took for the voice on the other end of the line to reply, he fought the feeling of foreboding that middle-of-the-night calls always engender. 

"Viscount Trowbridge?" the unfamiliar voice asked. Julian sat up quickly, struggling to come fully awake. This is not good, he thought, his mind turning immediately to his parents. Not only was the voice unfamiliar, but no one who knew him or worked with him would address him by his title. Julian had inherited Ted McHale's philosophy of adhering to an almost fanatic liberalism and republicanism in daily life while maintaining a deep appreciation for the history and tradition that the earldom of Ailesbury represented. Had something happened to his father? Calls from strangers in the middle of the night were rarely pleasant news.

"Yes? This is he."

"Please hold for Major Stokesbury." Now, Jules was more confused than frightened. He assumed it was Barry Stokesbury whom Julian knew well enough to be sure that this was unlikely to be a call telling him that one or the other of his parents had been taken ill.

"Alright," he said, hesitantly.

"Jules, what is it?" Ness asked sleepily concerned.

"Don't know. I'm holding for Major Stokesbury."

"The Intelligence bloke whose department monitors the internet or cyberspace or whatever?"

"I assume. Barry's the only Major Stokesbury I know." 

Vanessa McHale rolled over and looked at her sleeping daughter whom she vaguely recalled crawling into bed with her parents sometime earlier in the night. "I'm going to get Tess back to her room," she said, fearing that her own night's sleep might well be over.

"Julian?" Barry Stokesbury's voice came out of McHale's phone speaker. Julian quickly switched it off and put the phone to his ear.

"Barry! Bloody hell, man! It's the middle of the night." Not exactly the mannered greeting that Jules had been taught to give when someone rang him.

"I know, Jules. Sorry to wake you. We . . . Um . . . Well, you see . . . There's a video we picked up on YouTube . . . from New York . . . " 

New York! Mackie! Will! Julian held his breath. 

"Yes, well . . . " Stokesbury continued, "there was a shooting outside the Atlantis World Media Building . . . "

"What? My bro . . . Was . . . Will McAvoy . . . "

"He was the target, but . . . "

"Mackie! Mackie? My sister . . . "

"Yes, I'm afraid so, old thing. She was hit, but is alive and seems to be speaking to McAvoy on the video. You can see them putting her in an ambulance. They, the medics got there quickly." Stokesbury blurted out hurriedly, as Julian took the phone from his ear, engaged the speaker, and began to launch the YouTube app. 

"Can you see . . . " Julian swallowed, "see on the video . . . where she was hit?"

"Looks like chest. There's some blood visible and she appears to cough several times."

Not near the baby, Julian thought, gratefully. Not good, but not a wound to the abdomen. "Thank you," Julian breathed shakily, as his manners finally kicked in. "Thank you for informing me. The Ambassador . . . you haven't . . . ."

"No!"

"Good. Uh? Yes, what? I'll ring him . . . " Julian said, distracted by the news and the copious results produced by a YouTube search for his brother-in-law's name.

"I'm so sorry, Julian, so sorry," Stokesbury said lamely.

"Yes. Thank you. Appreciate it." The call ended just as Nessa returned to the bedroom and Harry Shiner's video loaded on Julian's phone.

 

Seven minutes later, the telephone rang in the master bedroom of a large residence in the Belgravia section of London. Known as Ailesbury House, it had been home to generations of McHales during what used to be known as "the London Season." It was now the principal residence of the current Earl and Countess. The call came in just as Ted McHale was returning from a nocturnal visit to the loo. 

"Hello," McHale answered like someone who was more accustomed to before dawn calls than his son, but who still could not keep a note of trepidation out of his voice.

"Dad!" Just one word and Ted McHale's blood ran cold. It was Julian's voice, but filled with fear and anguish. The Ambassador steeled himself to hear what his son was going to say. "Dad . . . Mackie's been shot . . . chest wound . . . She's alive . . . Being taken to hospital." Julian breathlessly spit out the pertinent information. 

"The baby?" Ted whispered.

"Don't know."

"Jules, how did you hear?"

"Barry Stokesbury. His group monitored an amateur video on YouTube. 

"I see. Have you called anyone else?"

"No. You and Mum are the first. Do you want me to call Tommy?"

"Yes, I think he should know."

"Anyone else?"

Everyone else can wait until morning, I think."

Julian marveled at how his father could lose himself in organization and logistics, even at the worst of times. But then, his father had not yet seen the video - the images that Julian thought would haunt him forever. He paused and Ted could hear his son trying to control his breathing and maintain his composure. "Dad," Julian's voice started to crack nonetheless. "Dad, he crawled through broken glass . . . one of the windows at AWM . . . broke . . .on the video, you can see . . .he crawled on his hands and knees through broken glass . . . to get to her." Ted McHale heard the sounds of his son sobbing and his daughter-in-law weeping as he said thank you and good-bye and hung up the phone. 

He turned to look at the sleeping form of his wife. Maggie could sleep through an atomic bomb detonating in the next room, a skill she had either acquired from years of uncomfortable travel as a diplomat's wife, or to force him to deal with their children's nocturnal needs, he was never sure. He had loved Margaret Morgan from the moment she had come galloping toward him on a chestnut mare, the first time he had been invited home for a weekend house party by her older brother, with whom he had been at Oxford. Ted still missed Colin Morgan, as he knew Maggie did. Mackie had been named for him, a reminder, Ted reflected, his breath hitching with the pain that was invading his gut, that death can and does take the young.

"Maggie, darling," Ted said softly but forcefully as he leaned down to her ear, "Maggie, wake up. We have an emergency. We need to sort it. You must wake up."

"Teddy, whatever is the matter? It's still dark." Lady McHale rolled over and looked at her husband. The pain in his eyes set a bolt of adrenalin through his wife's system. "Teddy! Are you ill?"

"No. But Mackie's been hurt. Julian called. There's video on YouTube." Like any mother, Margaret McHale came fully and instantly awake.

Ted kept his arms around Maggie as they stood in his home office and watched the events of the preceding hour unfold on the screen. Maggie breathed out, "oh my dear, oh my dear God," and averted her eyes, turning her face into her husband's shoulder, in several places, especially as Will crawled toward their daughter's form on the side walk.

"He doesn't even feel the glass cutting him to ribbons. Look at him . . . his face. All he knows is Mackie's over there, and that's where he's going," Ted observed, with considerable admiration, wiping tears from his eyes. At the close ups of MacKenzie realizing for the first time that Will was with her and uninjured, Ted told Maggie to watch, and actually got her to smile sadly. "It's not Islamabad, Mag," he said. "If anyone can keep Mackie tied to this life it's William. And there's nothing so far to indicate that the pregnancy's been endangered."

"For God's sake, Ted! She's been shot in the chest. That can't be good for the baby! I understand putting a positive spin on things but . . . " Margaret's venting of her fear as irritation at her husband's eternal optimism was interrupted when they both became aware that her cell phone was ringing in the other room.

"It's Lee," Margaret said to her husband, as she walked in, picked up the phone and glanced at the name on the display. "Lee," she said again into the phone after sliding the answer bar. "We know. Yes . . . Some friend of Julian's in MI6 saw the video on YouTube . . . We just watched. Are you at the hospital? On your way. At Gatwick? He did? Well, I suppose he needs to be on his best behavior, but it is nice of him." She turned to her husband and said, "Rupert Murdock's jet is being fueled at Gatwick to take us to New York. It should be ready by the time we get there." 

"Convey to Lee my thanks for arranging it. Does she know anything? About Mackie's condition?"

"She's on her way to the hospital with Charlie," Margaret McHale replied after a pause while she listened to Leona. "They've talked to Will. Mackie's listed as critical but she's stable. She never lost consciousness. They put in a chest tube . . . to drain the blood and fluid . . . one lung was partially collapsed. They're prepping her for surgery." Ted nodded.

"Lee," Margaret continued, "do they know . . . well, they must know . . . Mackie's pregnant." Another pause. "Well, I didn't know if it was common knowledge. They were waiting for a clean bill of health from the genetic testing." Pause. "Charlie knew, I see. That makes sense that they would have told him." Another pause. "Will told the EMT? Well, yes, of course, he would have. Did he say if . . . the baby's . . . " Margaret's face seemed to relax at whatever Lee was saying. Then, she turned to her husband and spoke, "Will told Charlie that the EMT put a fetal monitor on Mackie as soon as they got her into the ambulance and although the heartbeat's a little slow because of the trauma, it's steady, which is good." Ted squeezed her hand. "How is he?" He heard his wife ask. As she listened to Leona's reply, her brows knit together and she sighed. "No, that's what I expected. Okay, we will get to Gatwick as soon as possible. Please ring if anything . . . changes . . . or you learn anything more. Tell Will . . . Just say, we love him and we will be there as soon as we are able. He'll be better when Charlie gets there. And Sloan's on her way. Good. And Lee, I can't thank you enough."

 

Their car moved through the night streets of Manhattan. Leona Lansing sighed deeply and rested her head on Charlie Skinner's shoulder in a rare show of vulnerability and ever rarer display of intimacy. He slipped his fingers under her palm and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. Her perfume filled his senses, and he closed his eyes. For a moment he was back in Southeast Asia, in a time and place where touching Lee was an everyday occurrence. At least in the end, Will and Mac hadn't fucked it up, he thought. Please, God, he prayed, let her recover and let her get through the surgery without endangering the baby. And, that boy, let him live. He looked so young, lying there on the concrete, Charlie thought. He has a whole life ahead of him. 

"How's the knee, old man?" Leona asked, raising her head and straitening up, which to both of their regret, meant moving away from Charlie. Charlie had come down hard on his left knee when he dove for the pavement, and it was stiff and swollen. She had made him ice it before they left ACN, and was nagging him to get it seen to at Beth Israel.

"You know a rice paddy is a whole hell of a lot softer than the sidewalk around the AWM building. If this is going to get to be a regular occurrence, maybe we should think about replacing the sidewalk with flooded dirt," he quipped. 

"God, Charlie! That is so not funny," Lee said, giggling and wiping her tearing eyes. Gallows humor, he mused, had brought them together. That was the first thing he had noticed about her. Well, the second if absolute honesty is required. She was an incredibly hot woman who not only laughed in the face of horror and danger, but actually laughed at Charlie Skinner's jokes and stories about horror and danger. He looked at her in the passing light of street lamps. Still beautiful, he thought. She smiled quizzically at his expression but didn't speak. He was pleased that she seemed to have relaxed and brightened a bit.

Before the call to the McHale's, Leona Lansing had placed a far more sorrowful call to a house in Waltham, Massachusetts. Mercifully, she had been spared the pain of informing Paul and Melissa Hendrickson about their son's injuries. The New York City Police Department had performed that unenviable task. She had truthfully told them that she could not imagine what they were going through other than the way that any parent can envision that worst of nightmares, a call informing them that their child is grievously injured or ill. As Charlie listened to her say this, he remembered getting a call from her when Reese was sixteen, telling him that there had been a motorcycle accident and asking him to please, please come to Nantucket. Leona had told the Hendrickson's that she was sending a plane for them to Logan airport, which would be met by a car to bring them to Beth Israel where David would be in surgery. The Hendrickson's, Charlie imagined looking at his watch, were probably just about to board the AWM jet. He looked down at his suit involuntarily expecting to find their son's blood, and then remembered that he had changed into a suit from wardrobe before leaving the building for the second time that night.

After the shooting had started, the security guards in the lobby had ordered Sloan, Reese, Jim and the other members of the News Night staff, who were still inside, back into the corridor by the elevator bank and sealed the building. After helping get David Hendrickson into the ambulance with his "father" and checking on MacKenzie being loaded into another, Charlie had gotten himself back into the building, found the others and told them the details as he knew them of what had happened. They had gone back upstairs while the building was still on lockdown, and Charlie and Jim and the others had helped Don begin production of the most difficult coverage of his career. They also wanted to support Elliot, who was having his equivalent of the birth of Will McAvoy on 9-11. 

And so it was that just before Leona, most of the News Night Staff and Charlie left to go to the hospital, he had stood, surrounded by most of his children, and watched what would henceforth be known as "the Shiner Video" in the same way any journalist or historian knows "the Zapruder Tape." Sloan's pain and horror at Will's crawl to Mac was so great that she screamed, and doubled over and might have fallen to the floor, if Don hadn't caught her. She reminded Jim of the glimpse he'd had of Mac collapsing against Will in the editing bay on the day of the Newtown shooting. Jim, Elliott and Don were immobilized by just the act of contemplating the depth of emotion that had propelled Will across the glass. It was the kind of thing that people talk about as a declaration of love, and believe, or certainly want to believe, has actually happened, but is so rare that almost no one has ever seen it. 

When the Video concluded, Neal said aloud in an impressed if subdued voice, "that was very respectful videography." He made a great show of writing down Harry Shiner's name and contact information and putting it in Mac's office "for when she gets back." It was a small but comforting act of faith that all would be normal again someday. When Neal returned to the bull pen, he was still talking about the video, "There are multiple versions on YouTube, some with musical soundtracks, but I don't advise looking at them just yet. The worst are a couple done by people who researched Will well enough to use his favorite music. They've got some of the songs we heard at the wedding." He finished the sentence in little more than a whisper, shaking his head. "I couldn't . . . " Everyone assumed when Neal didn't finish the thought that he was either going to say "take it" or "watch it." Predictably, he comforted himself with statistics, telling everyone, "there have been over 85,000 hits so far on the YouTube raw footage as posted by Shiner. In addition, there are currently 17 other versions of all or part of the Shiner video on YouTube, including some that have been edited professionally and are being shown on local and network news, that each have over 20,000 hits. The shooting took place less than an hour ago."

"We should show it too!" Jim said loudly, his voice laced with conviction, and his eyes shinning with unshed tears. "This is news. It is an attack on democracy. Silencing either MacKenzie McHale or Will McAvoy would have a profound effect on the fabric of decision making in this country, and that's exactly what that madman was going for." Jim began to gesture passionately. They all stared at him. Jim was Mac's little brother in their eyes as much or more than Tommy McHale, and no one would think less of him for coming totally apart. But, while he was clearly emotional, he was also eloquent and making compelling sense. "That was a political assassination attempt that took place out there tonight," he continued. "We should show everyone that we want people to see what someone tried to do to us. Because doing it to us is doing it to yourself. Everyone's life is at risk if Will's and Mac's lives are." There was a smattering of applause when he finished.

"Run it," Charlie said in a thick but strong voice.

Don seemed to be the only one at all capable of functioning on a logical or logistical level, and so he took on Will's role as father. As soon as the lockdown was lifted, he asked Jim to go with Sloan to the hospital, thereby getting both of them to where they needed to be, for their own sakes as well as Will's. Sloan clearly needed to be with Will, Don obviously couldn't leave and he didn't want her going alone. Jim just as plainly needed to be near Mac. When Sloan and Jim announced their departure, there were so many wistful faces among the News Night staff, that Don told them all that he thought he and Elliot and the Right Now crew could keep the fires burning without the extra help. Anyone from News Night, he announced, who wanted to go to the hospital should. Don also reminded Charlie that he had better be there when they tried to take Mac away from Will. Leona was going as the matriarch, to keep Charlie company, and also to remind the hospital administration how little it would like to lose her as a benefactor by screwing up MacKenzie's or David's care.

When Sloan called to Reese to join her and Jim in their cab, surprisingly, he declined. He said that he needed to remain at ACN. He would come along to the hospital a little later, but first, he had "something he needed to do for Mac."


	31. Waiting Rooms

Mac and Will were still in the IC Triage Center off of the Emergency Department, when Charlie and Leona arrived. The nurse at the Emergency admitting desk told them that the surgical team was now all on site and scrubbing in and that in a few minutes, Ms. McHale would be taken upstairs. Charlie had argued and then Leona had requested that he be allowed to go back to be with Will when Mac departed. The decision to breach protocol and admit a non-family member to a triage room was referred to the Chief of IC Triage, one Simon Bennett, who coincidentally had been treating MacKenzie. When Bennett came out to talk to them, Leona's intimidation factor turned out not to be necessary. He considered Charlie's arrival a blessing from on high. He took them both to a separate waiting room for the unit. "Please, put this on," he said, going to a cabinet and handing Charlie a sterilized jump suit, cap and booties, "and follow me."

As they started to walk, he said, "McAvoy's hanging on by his fingernails. He's still in shock. Won't let us treat the wounds to his hands or legs. We had to threaten an IV to get some fluids into him. But, once we got the chest tube in, Ms. McHale stopped coughing up blood, and that's helped him." The doctor smiled, "no matter what we say, we've all been conditioned by Hollywood to see that as a sure sign of a character's impending demise. Even without the somber background music, seeing blood come out of somebody's lungs is scary. Mercifully, there's been no hint of real fetal distress, or I think he'd have cracked completely by now." They got to the room. Charlie entered, and walked to the bed where MacKenzie was stretched out. Her face was obscured by an oxygen mask, an IV line ran into her arm, an oxygen saturation monitor sensor covered the tip of her right index finger, the data screen for a fetal monitor was clipped to the bed frame, and a chest tube ran from the side of her body into a bag secured to the bed. Although her eyes had opened at his arrival, she was clearly groggy from the medications she had been given for pain and to allow them to insert the drainage tube.

"Hey, there, kiddo . . . " He had been intending to make a joke about the lengths to which some people will go for a few days off work, but it died in his throat, swallowed up by a sob that he could not contain. He took her hand and looked helplessly at Will. Although words had been his business for over forty years, Charlie Skinner could think of nothing to say. Reassurances that all would be well struck him as insulting platitudes. It was clear that no one at the medical center thought that Mac was in imminent danger of dying, but that she should be at risk at all, not to mention in pain, seemed too unfair and unthinkable to be expressed by mere words. So, he silently kissed, then squeezed, her hand. She looked at him, her eyes drinking him in, then she smiled under the oxygen mask and closed them again. 

"Son," Charlie said, turning to Will, who had stood up, somewhat robotically, as the older man entered the room. Charlie opened his arms and Will rushed into them like a child. "Oh, my boy. My boy," Charlie crooned repeatedly, as Will finally let go and the terror and agony and effort of holding it together for the doctors and EMTs poured out and washed over Charlie. Behind Will's shoulder, Charlie saw Mac's eyes open again, her chest fall in a contented sigh and her eyes smile, as she watched them embrace and her husband release the terrible tension he had been carrying. Good, Charlie thought, now she won't be worrying about Will when they take her into surgery. Unbidden, thoughts of Landstuhl slammed into Charlie's consciousness with sickening intensity, as he recalled her father's descriptions of MacKenzie being put under while emotionally distraught and crying out for Billy, and then awakening again to find herself alone without the one person she wanted, the only person who truly mattered. Guilt washed over him, both at his decision to lie to keep Will from going to Germany, and at the fact that he was still putting off letting Will know what he'd done. Well, this certainly wasn't the time or place for that discussion. "Let's sit down," he said instead, as Will's body sagged, his emotions spent.

A moment later, a nurse in scrubs and two orderlies arrived to transport Mac to the OR, and Will was instantly on his feet and at her side. Charlie saw the nurse inject several milliliters of liquid into Mac's IV line while Will was bending over her, whispering in her ear and kissing her neck and hair. The nurse said that they needed to go, which Will didn't seem to hear at first, but then he asked how far he could go along with her, and was told that the door beyond which he could not pass was only about ten feet down the corridor. Will didn't straighten up, and for a second, Charlie wondered if he was going to have to intervene physically in order to get Mac out of the room. But then Will took a deep breath, released his grip on MacKenzie and rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead. He quickly jerked it away when he felt the tiny particles of glass that were still there, but not before he left a smear of blood behind. Mac, who had been watching him, lazily reached for her face in a drugged and discoordinated manner, but managed to push the oxygen mask away enough to say something that sounded like, "mac . . . hin . . . git . . . keened . . . up."

"We're going," the nurse said decisively, readjusting Mac's mask, checking her wristband against the paperwork, and signaling to the orderlies to release the wheel locks. Then she spied the rings on Mac's left hand. "We should take these off and put them in property control or give them to her, uh, husband to keep. Are you Mr. McHale?" she asked Will. Before he could speak, she looked at him more closely and said, "wait, I know you. You're Will McAvoy."

"Can't you leave them on?" Will asked, ignoring the nurse's identification of him. "She feels like it's bad luck . . . " Will's voice broke as he remembered their conversation in her office earlier that evening. "Kenz doesn't like to take them off."

We can tape them, but well, frankly, I don't mean to suggest that I believe that anyone here at the hospital is dishonest, but, assuming that's a real diamond, this ring must be worth . . . 

"Nothing," Will interrupted, "nothing compared to her . . . her peace of mind." He was clearly on the thin edge of emotional collapse.

"Honey," the nurse said to him kindly, touching his arm. "I'll do whatever you want, but in about 30 seconds, she's not going to know that she has hands, let alone what's on them. You can keep her rings and I promise you, I'll find you and get them back on her before she wakes up; okay?" Will nodded and the nurse removed MacKenzie's engagement ring and wedding band and handed them to Will. As he looked dumbly at them in his palm, she squeezed his arm again and said, "she's gonna be just fine. You relax. Don't you worry." It was a such a ridiculous statement but said in so sweet and heartfelt a manner, that it brought the ghost of a smile to Charlie's lips.

They walked the ten feet to the corridor doors. The nurse stopped and gave Will time for another kiss goodbye. As she had predicted, whatever she had put in the IV had taken effect and Mac appeared by then to be sleeping peacefully. It was actually fortunate, Charlie thought, that Will had essentially no energy left, as he watched Will's hand trail off the end of the bed going through the doors. He led Will to the waiting room where Leona sat with a few other people who had relatives in IC Triage. Charlie and Will took off their sterile covers and deposited them in the appropriate receptacle. A few minutes later, Dr. Bennett reappeared and said that someone would be in shortly to take them to the VIP lounge on the OR floor where they could wait. 

 

They waited. It seemed endless. People arrived, Rebecca, Sloan and Jim, Neal, Maggie, Gary, Tess and Kendra and others from ACN. Lonny had gone to Will's and Mac's apartment where he and Loraine had called Rebecca and the few other party guests who had not been coming straight from ACN and told them what had happened and where Mac had been taken. Then they had put the perishable food into containers, made sure the place wouldn't look like a party scene when Will got home and come to the hospital. They had also brought him a change of clothes, but so far, he had rejected the idea of changing. Lonny wondered if he regarded his blood stained clothes as some sort of talisman connecting him to MacKenzie.

Sloan and Will spent a long time holding each other as they both cried. Then, when neither seemed to have any tears left, Will noticed Jim standing off alone against a pillar by the tray of coffee and other beverages that hardly any of them had touched. His arms were folded across his body and his head was bowed. Will squeezed Sloan and released her, inclining his head in Jim's direction. "Yeah," she said, "he was pretty upset on the cab ride over here. She's incredibly important in his life, too."

Will went to Jim. Jim looked up, "Why did it have to be her?" 

"You mean as opposed to me?" Will asked. Even under the present circumstances, he couldn't resist yanking Jim's chain.

Predictably, the young man's face became a mask of horrified chagrin. "God, no, Will! No! That's not what I meant at all!

"I'd rather it had been me." Will said simply.

"But she wouldn't," Jim replied.

"I'd rather it had been Jerry Dantana," Rebecca said dryly, walking by to get a cup of coffee. 

 

Charlie insisted that Mac's instructions be followed and coerced Will into allowing a nurse to tweezer the glass out of his hands and legs and apply antibiotic ointment and bandages to the largest cuts. Leona coerced Charlie into having his knee examined, iced and an MRI scheduled. 

Will's phone buzzed a number of times. Denise Barrington called to reassure him that she had been contacted by "Shivitz, the OB on Mac's case," and that "MacKenzie couldn't be in better hands." Ted and Margaret called to say they were at Gatwick, and on the plane and would be airborne soon. A stunned Rosemary called after seeing the video on the late news, and tried to stop her brother's repeated and tearful apologies for not thinking to call any of the family. She offered to fly to New York, but Will said that "unless something bad happens," he thought that he'd . . . they'd be okay and promised to let her know as soon as Mac was out of surgery. Jacob Habib called and volunteered to come to the hospital and wait with Will. Charlie then returned from having his knee evaluated and took possession of Will's phone so he could screen any further calls. They were starting to come in from more peripheral people, such as Joe Biden, Anderson Cooper and Diane Sawyer, and Charlie spoke to each and told them that Mac was expected to recover and Will was surviving. Will spent a long time sitting with Sloan on one side of him and Jim on the other, staring at Mac's rings in his hands and not uttering a word.

After about an hour, Neal walked up to where Will was sitting with Jim and Sloan, tapped the screen and handed Will his iPad. On the screen, hundreds maybe thousands of small candle flames glowed in the darkness, eerily illuminating the faces of the mostly young people who carried them in silent procession. "What is this?" Will asked.

"ACN Breaking News. Elliot and Don. The quad at Columbia, about 15 minutes ago," Neal responded. "It's a candlelight vigil for Mac and David Hendrickson." The picture changed. "Oh, that's Tappan Square at Oberlin, I think. There are Greater Fools vigils all over the country like this. The crowd at Northwestern is estimated to be almost five thousand." Neal's voice broke and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Will you tweet or blog that I and everyone one at News Night and ACN are comforted by this out pouring of support? Or something like that? Make it sound more sincere than that," Will added, wiping his own eyes.

"Yes, of course," Neal replied.

About fifteen minutes later, Neal, who was still on his iPad, shouted out for everyone to listen. He turned up the sound to maximum volume, and Elliot's voice could be heard clearly saying, "and now we have a statement from the President of Atlantis Cable News." People pulled out phones and other devices as Neal handed his iPad to Will. The camera pulled back to show Reese sitting beside Elliot and then zoomed in for a head shot of Reese's somber face.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Reese Lansing, and, as Elliot said, I am the President of ACN. Tonight, we here at ACN were attacked in the worst violence directed at journalism since the capture and beheading of New York Times Correspondent Daniel Pearl. Two people caught in that attack, a young college student named David Hendrickson and News Night executive Producer MacKenzie McHale are fighting for their lives in a New York hospital. Many others are nursing lesser wounds suffered in the attack. But they are not the only victims, and News Night, ACN and the families of those wounded are not the only ones who are suffering. Indeed, the true target of this attack was not Ms. McHale, or even Will McAvoy. The target of this attack was the concept of fact and truth, and the journalistic integrity and freedom to speak the truth and report the facts.

"I am here tonight to tell all those who would silence the voices of truth and reason and social discourse, that you can not win this fight that you have started. For every one of us you cut down, two or three will rise to take her place. For every one of us you silence, four or five will speak out in his name. Look on college and university campuses all across this country tonight and you will see us." Here, the screen filled with clips from the many candlelight marches that were taking place in support of the ACN victims, as Reese's voice continued, "it has long been the practice of mankind to treat an unprovoked attack on one's home, one's family and one's country as an act of war, and to respond with a counter declaration of war. We are at war in this country, my friends, and it should not require the bringing of that war to our doorsteps before we respond."

The camera returned to Reese's face. "Atlantis Cable News hereby declares war on ignorance, on the manipulation of facts, logic and reason to serve the interests of opinion or belief, and on the forces who would restrict the pluralism that is central to our democracy. We declare war on violence as an instrumentality of societal change or as a means of subjugating the views of those with whom we disagree. Our weapons in this war will be our words and our deeds. We make this declaration for David and the others who fell in the street with him tonight, and most especially for you, Mac, who taught us that news coverage that respects the intelligence of our viewers is our most important product." Reese's voice hitched for a second and then strengthened. "David and MacKenzie, we wish you both a full and swift recovery. We will be waiting for you. Goodnight."

While they had been watching together on Charlie's phone, Charlie put his arm around Leona, who was smiling proudly, as tears ran down her cheeks. When Reese concluded, Will stood up and walked over to them. He leaned down and kissed Leona. "Looks like the apple landed right under the tree after all," was all he said.

 

After about twenty minutes more of waiting, Leona's phone chirped with a text. "The Hendrickson's are here," she said to Charlie. They're in the regular surgery waiting room, wherever that is. We should get them in here."

"I'll go." She jumped at Will's voice. She hadn't realized he was standing behind her. "I want to see them," he said when she looked like she was getting ready to argue. "I do."

Will got directions to the other waiting room from one of the nurses, and left. As he walked, he realized that he had no idea what he was going to say to the parents of the boy he had held at the barricade. He was suddenly vividly aware that this was their child. He had grown inside of the woman he was about to meet, just like his child was growing (please God, let it still be growing) inside MacKenzie. What would . . . what could he say? Tell them he was sorry? What good would that do?

He entered the waiting room which was empty except for an exhausted looking middle-aged couple who sat side by side, holding hands in silence, and the man Will recognized as the one who had taken the boy from him at the barricade and told him to go to MacKenzie. The man, he recalled, who wanted the autograph for his wife. The man, Will suddenly realized, who had probably saved his life with that request, for if he had been getting in the car behind Mac, he surely would have been an easy open target. The couple both jumped up when he entered the room. "Mr. McAvoy," Melissa Hendrickson said, as Will walked up. 

"Please call me, Will," he said, extending his right hand automatically and then pulling it back when he realized that his hand was covered in bandages and a few of the cuts that were not bandaged were still bleeding a little. "Sorry."

"You're hurt," Melissa observed, genuine concern in her voice. Will looked down at his blood stained sweater and jeans as if seeing them for the first time. 

"Only my hands, really, and knees. It's okay. Most of this blood is . . . " his voice broke, "your son's and my wife's."

"Your wife's?" Paul Hendrickson asked in surprise.

Will looked at him and nodded. What the fuck did secrecy matter now or here? The Hendrickson's weren't about to sell the story to the tabloids and who gave a rat's ass if they did, he thought wearily.

"MacKenzie's blood." Melissa said, a statement more than a question, and Paul recalled his wife gesturing to McHale and McAvoy on their TV screen during the ABC News report on News Night 2.0, and telling him that "something is going on" between them. "How is she?" Melissa continued.

"I don't know. In surgery. Not as badly injured as David . . . it is David; right?" The Hendrickson's nodded. "They think that the bullet that got her went through the car door first. She was just getting into the car when the shooting started." Will paused. "I am so sorry," he said brokenly. "I regret whatever I've done to bring this down on you . . . "

"Don't say that," Paul Hendrickson interrupted, his voice loud and barely controlled, "you've done nothing except speak the truth about a dangerous cancer that is growing in this country. You've inspired young people to speak up and take a stand for objectivity and the rule of reason and the importance of scientific investigation. You have nothing to regret, as far as I'm concerned."

"Mac . . . Mac and I spoke to David for a couple of minutes . . . before . . . He was . . . is . . . impressive. You've raised . . . " When Melissa's eyes filled with tears, Will found that he couldn't go on speaking. Impulsively, he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. She broke down and he held her, as her tears mingled with her son's and MacKenzie's blood on his sweater. They were still standing like that when Sloan came into the room.

"Will, they're looking for you," she said breathlessly. Both he and Melissa gasped and pulled apart. He looked suddenly terrified. "Will, it's okay," Sloan added hastily, aware of what she'd done, "she's out. She came through . . . they both did."

"David?" Melissa asked hopefully, relief flooding her features.

"Oh, God!" Sloan moaned. "No, ma'am. I don't know about your son. I think they're still working on him. I'm sorry . . ." Obviously mortified, she was babbling, talking faster and faster. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I didn't mean to . . . um . . . saying 'both' . . . I wasn't thinking . . . it's just that, you see . . . It's just that MacKenzie's . . . " Sloan stopped abruptly, giving Will a helpless "I really fucked up this time" look.

The reality of the situation dawned in Melissa Hendrickson's eyes, and she looked to Will for confirmation. He held her gaze as her hand came up to cover her mouth and still her trembling lips. "My God," she whispered softly. "How awful for you, Will. Was she conscious?" He nodded and her next words pierced him. "Oh, she must have been so terrified for the baby." Melissa looked at Will with such compassion, it floored him. Here she was in danger of losing her own child and suffering for the threat to his. 

Will cleared his throat, and gesturing for the room's other occupant to join them, said, "let's all go down to the other waiting room where the ACN people are. The chairs are better," he added, making a lame attempt to lighten things a bit. "And, I know Leona wants to meet you."

 

The surgeon who had operated on MacKenzie was waiting for Will when they got back to the VIP lounge, and by then, Reese had arrived. The doctor introduced himself, and after Will told him that there was nothing to hide, he addressed the whole room. The bullet had torn a hole in one lobe of Mac's right lung and had also cracked a rib that had put another small puncture in the lung. These together had caused a partial collapse of two lobes. They were able to repair the holes and did not have to remove the damaged lobe which was good. She was on a ventilator and would be through the next day, but they hoped to be able to remove it after 24 hours. She had a chest tube suctioning her thoracic cavity which would stay in place for up to a week depending upon the injured lung's ability to stay inflated without the ventilator. There were a lot of other words like cavitation, lymph node, plastic surgery, that washed over Will after he heard the doctor say that Mac was fortunate that the bullet had gone through the car door and that she should make a full recovery. 

Privately, since Mac's pregnancy still wasn't common knowledge, Will asked the surgeon about the baby. After first interjecting the caveat that he was a thoracic surgeon and not an obstetrician, the doctor said that as far as he knew, everything was fine. He also told Will that once they had gotten Mac into the "post-op ICU," Will would be allowed to see her. Will asked if the doctor had any word on David Hendrickson and pointed out the boy's parents. He assured Will that he would tell them that the last he heard David was holding his own and then go and get a report and brief the parents.

 

Dr. Shivitz stood in the small room in the ICU, just looking at MacKenzie McHale, watching her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm as the ventilator inflated her lungs. He had watched her not that long ago on CNN, healthy, vibrant, beautiful and clearly very happy in her work. He listened to the sounds in the room, the ventilator. the chest tube suction pump, the beep of the heart monitor, and his personal favorite, the rapid whoosh-whoosh sound of the fetal monitor. His little patient, as he thought of MacKenzie's unborn child, was doing fine. The fetal heart rate was a little depressed as would be expected from the effects of the general anesthetic and the drugs that were being used to keep Mac under during the first hours on the ventilator. But he had approved the dosage of every drug that had been administered and had used a brand new, state-of-the-art, computer enhanced transvaginal ultrasound to monitor the fetus throughout the surgery, and felt confident that the pregnancy had not been compromised. 

"Dr. Shivitz," one of the nurses who was getting MacKenzie settled, interrupted his contemplation. "I believe that they are sending her husband back any minute now."

"I guess we're not supposed to say, but he's that TV guy," the other nurse volunteered. "You know the one who crawled through broken glass to get to her when she was shot. That's so romantic. It's all over YouTube. Have you seen it?"

"No," Shivitz said, realizing that he'd forgotten about a husband. "Heard something mentioned on the radio when I was driving in about someone, I guess it was McAvoy, crawling over broken glass. By 'TV guy,' I assume you mean Will McAvoy?" Will McAvoy, Shivitz thought, Will McAvoy. William McAvoy. Of course!

And as if conjured by Shivitz's ruminations, Will appeared in the doorway of the room. This Will McAvoy only vaguely resembled the man Shivitz watched most nights at 8:00 PM. Now, he looked distraught, numb and shaken. His clothes were stiff with dried blood. His wife's blood. And, although Will had been prepared for all of the equipment, as his gaze fell on MacKenzie, he made a noise that was a cross between a sob and a moan. He walked gingerly to the bed and scrubbed his bandaged hands over his face before reaching out and tentatively and touching Mac on the leg. Then, he slowly removed something from his pocket and gently took Mac's left hand in his. Shivitz watched as Will carefully placed a band of tiny diamonds and then a huge solitaire on her ring finger. Bending over, he kissed his wife's hand and whispered, his voice breaking with the effort, "I love you, Kenz. Come back to me . . . Please, Kenz, come back to me." 

"Mr. McAvoy, I'm Dr. Shivitz, Chief of Obstetrics here at Beth Israel."

Unexpectedly, in response to this totally innocuous greeting, McAvoy's face contorted in anger and confusion. When he spoke it was in a loud and anguished voice. "What the fuck is going on here? Why can't anyone be straight with me? I'm told the surgery's routine, but it's being done by the Chief of Thoractic something or other. I'm told over and over that there's no danger to the pregnancy and I walk in here and find the fucking Chief of Obstetrics with her! What the hell's going on? Just tell me. I can take it!"

Shivitz signaled for the nurses to give them the room. "Nothing's going on. Or, rather Leona Lansing's going on. The AWM Foundation is probably the largest contributor to the medical center, support that she has threatened to withdraw if anything bad happens to Mac or the baby. Every doctor on this case is the chief of something or other. Believe me, the words 'Leona Lansing' and 'defund' in the same sentence tend to generate emergency meetings of boards of trustees. I was awakened from a nice sleep at home by a call from the Director, and brought in here with a police escort." He gestured toward the bed. "Your wife has a moderate mitral valve prolapse, probably the most common cardiac abnormality on the planet, and all during her surgery, we had the Chief of Cardiology scrubbed and sitting on a stool in the corner of the OR, reading Time magazine on a sterile iPad." Despite his exhaustion and anxiety, Will could recognize the humor in this explanation, he just couldn't respond to it.

When McAvoy didn't reply, Shivitz continued. "Listen, Mr. McAvoy," he said, holding up the index finger on his right hand as if to make a point. "Yes, that's it, listen!" And with that, Shivitz took a few steps over to the fetal monitor, pressed a button and the room filled with the rapid whoosh-whoosh sound to which Shivitz had been listening earlier. "Heartbeat," he said simply. "Steady. Strong."

In his exhausted state, Will was having trouble thinking clearly, and said, "MacKenzie's heartbeat?" 

"No," Shivitz laughed, "your daughter's heartbeat."

Will stared at him open mouthed. "My . . . my . . . daughter? It's a girl! A girl? But . . . but . . . Dr. Barrington said that it was too early to tell . . ."

Shivitz smiled. "Denise is great, but I have better toys. It is early, so don't sue me if Denise spots a scrotum in a week or two, but I got a couple of pretty good looks and positions and the computer agrees with me, so I'm calling this one for the feminine team. I have some great pictures of her for you. This new computer enhanced ultrasound is absolutely amazing. She doesn't have her mother's beauty yet," he said, the smile spreading into a mischievous grin, "but she's lookin' good."

Will rubbed his temples with his finger tips. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm being a dick. And rude. I didn't mean to jump on you. It's just . . . I've been so worried . . . so scared. I don't think she . . . could . . . if she lost . . . I'm afraid she wouldn't recover. You can't understand. It's a long . . . story . . . " Will looked at Shivitz, tears overflowing, and reaching the breaking point. "I'm sure everyone . . . feels this way, but she just can't . . . She just can't lose this baby," he moaned, sinking into a bedside chair and putting his head down and his hand on MacKenzie's knees.

"She won't. I promise you." Shivitz realized as a physician, that it was a stupid thing to say as soon as the words were out of his mouth. How could he promise such a thing? Are you God, now, he could hear Rivka asking.

McAvoy didn't seem to have noticed. "I'm sorry," he repeated, struggling for composure, "babbling at you like this. You can't have any idea what I'm talking about . . . "

"Well," Shivitz said, putting a hand on Will's shoulder, "there's where you'd be wrong, Billy."


	32. Danny

Slowly, Will's head came up and he looked at Dr. Shivitz as if seeing him for the first time. The aquiline nose, the dark and compassionate brown eyes were as Mac had described. The small knit circle that he wore clipped slightly off center on the back of his head marked him, Will knew, as an observant Jew. He was young, not Doogie Howser young, but two, maybe three years younger than Mac. "Jesus Christ," Will breathed reverently.

Shivitz waited to see if Will would say more, and when he was silent, the doctor smiled and said, "afraid not. Same tribe, but the name's Shivitz. Daniel Shivitz."

"I know. I know. You're . . . you're Danny."

"Only to Mac. And my father." 

MacKenzie and her nicknames. Will smiled slightly, remembering telling Mac many years before that no one, absolutely no one, ever called him Billy. She had simply looked at him with her crinkle-eyed smile (God, what he would give to see her eyes open and smiling again) and replied smoothly in that lilting accent, "well, now someone does." 

"Danny," Will repeated, "Danny, I owe . . . you . . . everything I have . . . Everything I will ever have . . . I owe to you."

"She told you about me?" the doctor asked, taking the chair beside Will's at MacKenzie's bedside.

Will nodded. "She's wanted to contact you, and tell you about the baby. Only she couldn't remember your last name. She's suppressed a lot of her memories of . . . Kabul. It's only recently started coming back. Lately, it's been memories. At first, a lot of it was just nightmares."

"Nightmares. Yes." Shivitz closed his eyes as his mind was flooded with the memory of rescuing Mac from the Intercontinental and holding her through almost four weeks of nightmares before she left for Iraq. Then, he looked at Will, all physician again. "Does she still have trouble breathing when they get really bad?"

Will felt his panic level rising again. "Yes . . . "

"Enough to lose consciousness?" Shivitz interrupted.

"No . . . well, yes, but only once. And she wasn't asleep. She was talking to a psychiatrist, and it was when she first remembered the birth. You're thinking about her oxygen levels . . . in her blood . . . Can shallow breathing, rapid like that, hurt the baby?"

"Probably not ordinarily. Not when it only lasts for a short time. But her lung function's been compromised." Shivitz looked at Will's red-rimmed, exhausted eyes and realized that having this conversation was adding unnecessarily to the almost unbearable burden the man was already carrying. "It'll be okay," he said hastily. "We'll build this into her treatment protocols for when she's released. Do you think she'd sleep with a sat monitor?

"If she's sedated," Will replied automatically, thinking back to a time years ago when she had the flu and he practically had to tie her down to keep Mac out of the studio even though she was burning up with fever. "She's not the best patient."

"Tell me about it." Danny shook his head, smiling to himself. "She is the only patient I've ever had who when I told her that I believed I had preserved her ability to get pregnant again, said to me . . . I think her exact words were . . . that I could bloody well go fuck myself."

"My, my, Lady MacKenzie certainly picked up some very bad language habits around the ACN newsroom." Will observed, seeming to relax almost in spite of himself. "What did you say?"

Shivitz gave a snorting chuckle. "I was young enough and exhausted enough and insulted enough . . . as far as I was concerned I'd just pulled off a miracle and expected to be thanked profusely . . . that I responded in a totally unprofessional way and yelled something about her being selfish and unappreciative." Dan Shivitz paused, obviously lost in the memory. Will said nothing. "She shouted at me that she didn't care and didn't want to have anyone else's children. Since she'd called incessantly for someone named Billy in the recovery room, I shouted back, 'Great! Don't! Go back to bloody Billy and have more of his children!' It was like I'd flipped a switch. The mask of bravado dropped away, and suddenly she looked like a lost and abandoned child." Will winced at the word abandoned. "She apologized for being rude and then she looked at me with those eyes of hers brimming with tears and sorrow, and whispered, 'Billy doesn't want me anymore.'"

"That wasn't . . . Oh, Christ . . . " Will scrubbed his hands over his face and then lowered his head into them.

"Someday, I'd like to hear what happened with you and Mac, if you want to talk about it," Shivitz said quietly. 

"What did you think?"

"At that moment . . . " Dan paused until Will looked up. "I thought that I had just learned the first name of the stupidest . . . and luckiest . . . bastard alive."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. You could throw in the most self-destructive asshole on the planet too. Only, it wasn't enough to destroy myself or my own happiness. I almost killed her in the process. And I did kill . . . " Will choked on a sob. "How can I ever be forgiven?"

"Has Mac forgiven you?"

"Yes."

"Then God has forgiven you."

"Mac really never blamed me."

"No, she blamed herself."

"Because of me. Because I convinced her that everything was her fault." 

"And you've stopped doing that?" Will nodded, but appeared unconvinced that anything could remove the burden of guilt from his shoulders. "You are also the man who just crawled through broken glass so she wouldn't be alone."

Will looked at him strangely, "how do you know that?"

"Apparently there's a video. On YouTube and some of the news programs are running it. I've not seen it. The nurses were talking about it."

"Jesus." Will was surprised but couldn't really spare any emotion for Rebecca's concerns.

"Mr. McAvoy . . . "

"Didn't I ask you to call me Will? I can't remember. But please . . . Mr. McAvoy's ridiculous under the circumstances, Dr. Shivitz." Dan Shivitz smiled and nodded.

"Will, I saw her on those interview shows last week. Mac was radiant. I'd never seen her well or happy, you know. She was so . . . alive, so involved and passionate about everything you two were doing . . . And all those college kids . . . What do they call themselves?" 

"Greater Fools."

"Yes, the Society of Greater Fools. You mobilized an army of youth to carry on your work and her ideas. What could make MacKenzie McHale happier than that?" Shivitz smiled. "Except having your baby, of course." He looked at Will, whose tired face broke into a sweet smile.

"Yes, she's . . . we both are . . . You know, about the oxygen saturation monitor," Will said seriously, "she would sleep standing on her head if you or Dr. Barrington told her that it would be good for the baby." 

Will stopped talking and closed his eyes, suddenly awash in emotions he could barely name. This man sitting beside him had held his son's body. He had been with MacKenzie. Taken care of her while she grieved. He had been there for MacKenzie when Will had failed her utterly and completely. Guilt, anger and jealousy swirled inside Will's exhausted mind in a broth of pain. He took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself. It took him a long time before he could trust himself to speak. Daniel Shivitz simply sat there in silence as if he had all the time in the world. Finally, Will swallowed a couple of times and said, "you held him. His body, I mean."

"Yes, I prepared him for burial. He was exquisite, her son . . . your son. Small, so tiny, and unfinished the way very pre-term babies are, but beautiful all the same." When Will didn't speak or even open his eyes, Shivitz continued, "I've prayed for her to heal, to find peace and happiness, every day of my life since she left . . . Kabul. I always suspected that it would have to be with you." He spoke softly, almost wistfully.

"You sent her back to find me. You made her promise to tell me." 

Not for your benefit, Shivitz thought, suddenly back in touch with the old resentment (he couldn't bring himself to call it jealously) he had always felt for "Billy." He tried to hide it, deliberately unclenching his jaw and relaxing his hold on the arms of the chair. He only belatedly realized that McAvoy was staring at him.

"Why did you never tell her you were in love with her?" Will asked, a compassionate note in his voice. "Because she isn't Jewish?"

"That first question carries a lot of unfounded assumptions," Shivitz replied in what he hoped was a casual, calm, neutral and emotionally detached tone of voice.

"Really?" Will McAvoy's prosecutor's eyes bore into the younger man. "If praying for someone's health and happiness every day of your life isn't love, I'd like to know your definition. As for the 'in' part, let's just say that it takes one to spot one."

After another minute, Dan Shivitz let out the breath he was holding. "No. Mac's not being Jewish would have complicated things, but I had pretty much already disappointed all of the people who thought that I should become a rabbi and take over my grandfather's congregation, as my father had done. And it wasn't because she was a patient, either. Trust me, there was no ethical review board functioning in Kabul, and if there had been I would have been in plenty of trouble for taking her to my place instead of readmitting her when she called me from her hotel. There were nights when I thought that I had lost my mind. I was not qualified to keep her from descending into psychosis. I pilfered some antidepressants and anti-anxiety drugs, but getting them into her was like pulling teeth. It was only luck, or . . . her sense of who she is . . . that kept her sane. She probably should have been in a psychiatric hospital after what she'd been through. But she was . . . is . . . so strong."

Strong, Will thought. There was that word again. When he put his head back, closed his eyes and said nothing, Shivitz resumed talking.

"Actually, the truth is that I thought about telling her . . . how I felt. But, in the end, I realized that she would never heal, maybe not even survive if she stayed with me." He turned and looked hard at Will. "And, I realized that she would never love me. She would always love Billy.

"She asked me in the hospital what had happened to the baby's body and I told her that I had put it in the morgue because it is Jewish tradition to bury the stillborn. She told me that it was English tradition also. I said that there was an old Jewish cemetery near the green zone that I knew about where I could take the baby's body, if she wanted me to. She agreed and asked if she could see him before . . . So I washed him and purified him and circumcised him and wrapped him in a small tallit that my grandfather had given me." Tears had begun to leak from Wills eyes and run down the sides of his face, but still he didn't move. "I took him to her," Dan continued, "and put him into her arms. I walked to the door because I intended to leave . . . leave them alone . . . to not intrude on her grief or infringe on her privacy. But then I turned around and . . . couldn't move. She was so beautiful. It was like a painting of the Madonna and Child had come to life. She held him to her and kissed his little face and hands and feet, I remember that so clearly." Will moaned softly, his mind filled with images of MacKenzie holding her nephew, Teddy, kissing his head and starting to tremble, and on a better day, giving him a bath with Nessa and playing with his wiggling toes. 

Dan paused to see if Will was going to speak. When he didn't, the doctor continued, "I was transfixed. I thought that maybe she hadn't noticed that I was there, but then, she raised her head and looked right at me, as she ran her finger along his chin." Shivitz swallowed several times, trying to clear the lump that had formed in his throat. "She said, with this incredible, almost other-worldly calm, 'Danny, see this. This is Billy's. He has Billy's chin.' And, in that moment, I knew. Her bond with Billy was unbreakable."

Will gave out a stricken, strangled cry that again made Shivitz stop talking. The first morning, Will remembered, the morning their daughter had most likely been conceived, he had said, "your eyes or my chin," and MacKenzie had involuntarily shuddered in his arms. Oh, God, he thought, shuddering himself. I can never atone for what I've done to her.

"Will, do you want me to stop?" Dan Shivitz asked, concerned by the sight of Will shaking.

"No!" Will's voice was hoarse and the word was fierce.

Shivitz nodded. "I guess, I looked . . . I don't know. To be honest, I think jealous might be closest to the truth, but she saw my expression as disapproving . . . critical of you because she asked me not to think ill of you; not to hate you. She said that you didn't know about the baby . . . that she'd never told you. She said that you didn't know that you'd almost had a son."

"I had a son," Will said softly. "He wasn't . . . The baby wasn't stillborn."

"What?"

"When I said before that she passed out . . . during an anxiety attack . . . she was having . . . a flashback, I guess, to the baby's birth. She remembered him moving and breathing for a little while." Will reached out and took Mac's lifeless left hand in both of his. "Before he died, she gave him a name . . . my name. His name was William Duncan."

"Dear God," Shivitz murmured. "She was alone . . . " It wasn't a question since he knew the answer, and his voice just trailed off because there was really nothing more to say.

"You didn't bury him." That also wasn't a question.

"No, she couldn't . . . She started to cry after she told me that you didn't know about the baby. She didn't want to . . . she couldn't seem to . . . give me his body. She became . . . very upset. Scared me. There are case studies in some of the psychiatric literature that I was reviewing at the time where women losing babies have become temporarily or permanently psychotic and refused to surrender the bodies. She kept saying that she couldn't leave him. So, I suggested that she have him cremated and that way she could keep his ashes. I had no idea if there was even any place in Kabul where a body could be cremated, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. After a while, she calmed a bit and agreed to hand him to me." Shivitz took a deep breath before continuing. "Turned out there was a Hindu Daramsal in Kabul where they cremate remains. Strange, the Hindus had survived the Taliban." Shivitz' shoulders shrugged slightly. "So, I took him there."

"Thank you," Will said simply. 

Shivitz stood. He rested his hand once again on Will's shoulder. "Let's stop for now. We'll talk again later. Will, you're exhausted, physically and emotionally. You need to rest."

"I'm not leaving her."

"Would you let me stay with her while you get some sleep? You won't be any good for her if you collapse, or make yourself seriously ill. Let me find a bed for you? Just for a little while. She's not going to wake up for hours, even if I don't authorize an additional sedative, which I'm sure Dr. Fischer, her Respiratory Specialist, is going to ask me to do. I'll come and get you before she wakes. I promise."

Will knew in the rational part of his mind that Shivitz was right. He wouldn't be any good if he couldn't walk, talk or think.

"I can get you some scrubs. Get you out of those clothes."

"Actually, someone brought me a change of clothes. I've just not . . . " Will wasn't sure exactly what the end of that thought was, so he simply let it go. He looked up at Dan. "There are a couple of others, Jim, who she's been with since Iraq . . . He's like her little brother, and Sloan, Sloan is her best friend; they're like sisters, and Charlie Skinner . . . They all need to sleep too, and I think that they might go home if they could just come back and see her for a moment. They all know about the baby so the monitor's not a problem."

"Okay. I'll make a deal with you. You agree to change into scrubs and lie down and try to sleep, or better yet, you agree to take a sleeping pill, and I'll arrange for each of them to come back here and have a little time with her." Dan Shivitz smiled triumphantly, knowing he had won.

And so after watching Will change into a pair of scrubs, trade his blood stained clothes to Lonny for the duffel of clean apparel, and swallow a mild sleeping pill, Dan Shivitz got him settled in one of "the cribs" that the residents sometimes used between shifts. Shivitz then went back to the waiting room, where Will had previously introduced him simply as "one of the doctors on Mac's case," after explaining to Dan that not everyone there knew about MacKenzie's pregnancy. Will had seemed to relax a bit, Dan noticed, after learning that David Hendrickson had survived his surgery and his doctors were cautiously optimistic about his chances of pulling through. Dan felt sure that this news, plus the chance to have been with Mac and the sleeping pill would assure that Will would get some rest. 

 

Back in the waiting room, Dan announced that Charlie (he hastily added Mrs. Lansing when he saw her look up), Jim and Sloan (he hadn't actually realized until at the sound of her name, she detached herself from the arms of the dark-haired man who was comforting her, that Will had been referring to Sloan Sabbith, probably the most gorgeous economist on the planet) would be permitted to come into the ICU and see MacKenzie. They decided among themselves that Jim, the surrogate younger brother, should go first. He looked very young and unsure of himself, but Will had described him as an excellent producer and a "tough kid" who had helped Mac heal in Iraq, and rescued her in Pakistan. As they walked down the hall, Dan recalled Jim's having been interviewed by Anderson Cooper on CNN, and how he had glowed with pride as he spoke about MacKenzie. He stopped Jim at the door and said, "don't be alarmed, all the machines make it look worse than it is."

"It's okay," Jim replied, "I've seen Mac on a ventilator before." When Danny's eyebrows rose, Jim volunteered, "she was stabbed in the stomach covering a street riot in Islamabad. She almost died. Didn't you see the scar on her side?"

"No. She was draped, and well, I was paying attention to other things."

Where Jim was stoic during his visit, Sloan was emotional. The dark haired man, who introduced himself as Don Keefer, walked part of the way down the hall with her, almost as if he didn't think she could make it on her own. "The baby?" Sloan asked as soon as she got into the room. 

"Want to hear the heartbeat?"

"Really? Can I?" Dan smiled and turned up the sound on the monitor. As the room filled with the rhythmic whoosh whoosh sound of the tiny heart steadily pumping Mackenzie's blood through the little fetal body, Sloan Sabbith burst into tears, and crumpled into Dan's waiting arms. 

Charlie Skinner and Leona Lansing came in together. Looking at the pale, still figure on the bed, Mrs. Lansing gasped and raised her hand to cover her quivering mouth, as her eyes filled with tears. Then, regaining her composure, she thanked Dan for providing Mac with such excellent care. Charlie held MacKenzie's hand and spoke softly, telling her everything was okay and she just needed to rest and heal. Then, to Dan's surprise, Leona Lansing reached for Skinner's hand and said, "Come on, old man, time to go home."

Left alone, Dan Shivitz took Mac's left hand and raised it to his lips. "Sleep well," he said softly, looking at the rings that Will McAvoy had so reverently replaced on her finger. Then, settling himself as comfortably as was possible into the chair, he took out his phone, tapped the YouTube app and watched Harry Shiner's video of the events of what was now the day before. As he beheld Will crawling to his wife's side, Dan Shivitz said aloud to the empty room, "now, that's my definition of love."


	33. Heart on the Door

Edward and Margaret McHale held hands but hardly said a word on the pre-dawn drive from Kennedy Airport to the medical center. They had been informed en route somewhere over the Atlantic that MacKenzie had come through the surgery and was stable. The AWM driver who had met them when they cleared customs explained that he had been instructed to take them to the hospital and to bring their bags to Mrs. Lansing's Fifth Avenue apartment. Ted McHale had protested that they could stay at a hotel, but acquiesced when the driver requested earnestly that he please be allowed to follow Mrs. Lansing's instructions. 

After identifying themselves at the hospital as MacKenzie McHale's parents, they were taken by a nurse's assistant to the Intensive Care Unit. There they were transferred into the custody of an ICU nurse who walked them to their daughter's room. The nurse warned them that she was still sedated and breathing with the assistance of a ventilator. She neglected however to inform them that they would find a lanky, young, dark haired man wearing a white coat over green surgical scrubs and a small knit kippah on his head sound asleep at MacKenzie's bedside.

"Is this the right room?" Lord McHale asked in surprise, even though he could see full well that it was Mackie lying on the bed, connected by multiple tubes and lines to various devices for delivering oxygen and fluids into and out of her body and for monitoring various bodily functions. 

"Oh," the nurse laughed. "Yes. That's Dr. Shivitz. He's the Chief of Obstetrics around here and a real doll."

Margaret gasped. "Is the baby in danger?"

"No, not the last time I looked at the monitor readout which was a couple of minutes before you came up. Why?" Margaret just looked at Dan Shivitz. "Oh," the nurse smiled, "because he's here. I was told that he spent a long time talking to your daughter's husband, whose name we're not supposed to mention. But I suppose you know who he is?" Since it was intoned as a question, the McHale's mechanically nodded. The nurse continued, "anyway apparently the husband didn't want her left alone, but they said he was about to collapse . . . Did you see the video where he crawled to her over all that broken glass?" the nurse asked with a far away sigh in her voice. Again Mac's parents nodded in unison. "So, the husband needed to sleep, and Dr. Shivitz offered to stay with her until he woke up."

"Where is the . . . Will?" Ted almost said "the husband," and felt ridiculous.

"In one of the cribs. That's were the doctors sleep."

At that moment, Dan stirred, and realizing that there were people in the room, stretched painfully and wondered if his neck would ever be the same again. He rubbed his eyes and introduced himself, as did MacKenzie's parents, who told him they were "Ted and Margaret."

"I understand that you put Will McAvoy to bed," Ted McHale said. "That was an accomplishment."

Dan smiled. "Bribery, if you must know. I traded his getting some sleep for allowing Jim, Sloan, Mrs. Lansing and . . . oh, what is his name . . . Older guy . . . "

"Charlie Skinner?" Ted volunteered.

"Yes." Dan replied.

"How is he?" Margaret asked.

"Will?" Dan asked automatically although he was pretty certain of the answer. She nodded. "He should be better after some sleep. He was in shock last night. He's . . . um . . . out of his mind with worry. . . . He really loves her, you know." There was an odd quality in the doctor's voice as he spoke that Ted's diplomacy honed senses picked up but couldn't quite place. "I'm going to go and wake him up. I'll bring him back here."

As Dan Shivitz started to leave the room, Ted stopped him with a light touch on the arm. "Talk to us a moment without Will. What is our daughter's prognosis? To what degree is the pregnancy at risk?" Dan correctly interpreted Mac's father's questions as asking for the unvarnished truth, which might not necessarily be what the doctor was telling Will.

"Your daughter came through the surgery very well. They were able to repair the holes in her lung and reinflate the lobes that had collapsed. Judging from the fluid volume coming out of the chest tube, edema is no more of a problem than one would expect. The danger now is infection, especially pneumonia, which risk goes up the longer she remains on the ventilator. But, she has one of the best respiratory specialists in the country in Mark Fischer, and he'll start weaning her off it as just as soon as her blood chemistry tells us she's ready. From the perspective of my patient, who I'm pretty sure is your granddaughter and not your grandson . . . "

"A girl! Really! A girl? Are you sure?" Margaret interrupted, bringing her hands up and clasping them in front of her chest in an expression of joy. Then, before Shivitz could respond, she turned to her husband, and said, "Will's going to get his preference! He wants a girl!"

"I'm pretty sure," Dan answered the questions she'd addressed to him. "It very early to tell from an ultrasound, but female is where my money is. Anyway, to answer your concerns about prognosis, I have two agendas in Mac's treatment protocols, first, making sure that whatever sedatives, antibiotics, bronchodilators and anticoagulants she's given are administered in the safest way for the baby, and second, keeping her on nebulizers and oxygen so that her blood saturation levels are optimal for fetal development. MacKenzie is almost assuredly going to have some lung function impairment during her recovery. Think of it like a temporary trauma induced asthma or COPD. And, it's treated in much the same way, which is actually lucky 'cause we've got data from treating hundreds of thousands of asthmatic women through pregnancy. The only other issue that's anywhere near my department is that her surgeon told me that the way the bullet went in there was very little cavitation of breast tissue so there should be little or no damage to alveoli or milk ducts, and lactation on the right side should not be impaired. So, bottom line is that Mac should make a full recovery," he smiled at them, "and be pissed as hell at Denise and me when she hears that she's going to be stuck sucking on a nebulizer six times a day for a while 'till full lung function returns."

"Something tells me, young man, that you did not just meet my daughter yesterday," Ted McHale observe dryly.

"No, sir," Dan Shivitz replied. "I met her almost six years ago in Afghanistan."

"Really. How?" McHale asked. Something about the question confirmed to Dan that Mac had never told her parents about her first pregnancy. And so he lied.

"I was an army doctor. She was there for ACN. She had a little respiratory infection and we treated all of the American media in Kabul at the army hospital. I gave her some antibiotics and quickly learned that she doesn't like to take medicine." He smiled disarmingly. "But we had a few drinks and became friends."

"I see," Ted McHale said with some reservation in his voice, clearly wondering if his daughter, who at the time had been reeling from her issues with Will, had been more than friends with this personable young man.

Shivitz decided to address the implicit question more or less head on. "She was going through a rough patch with the man she was in love with, whom she identified only as Billy. She wasn't interested in me." Dan looked directly into Lord Ailesbury's eyes. "She loved Billy. Always has and I suspect always will. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and wake him up." With that, he smiled, nodded at Lady Ailesbury and left the room.

"I like that young man," Ted said, as his wife only rolled her eyes. 

Will arrived in Mac's room at the same time as Dr. Fischer, the respiratory specialist, and a technician to draw blood. Fischer explained that if Mac's blood work came back within certain parameters, they would discontinue her sedation and when she was conscious, do some breathing tests to see if she was ready to breathe on her own. He estimated that it would be a couple of hours until the blood work results would be back and then another couple before she awoke. Ted and Margaret insisted that they use the time to take Will out and get him and themselves some food. Although Will argued that he didn't want to leave MacKenzie, when he couldn't remember when he had last eaten, and Sloan arrived to sit with her, he gave in and left with them.

At the elevator, they met David Hendrickson's parents, who after being introduced to the McHale's, told them that like MacKenzie, David was still sedated and on a ventilator, but that the doctors had told them that with each passing hour, David's chances of survival increased. Will promised that he would be in to see David when he returned from getting some food. 

 

It was a long and grueling day of waiting. Charlie and Leona returned to the hospital around mid day and various other ACN staffers came and went. Dr. Fischer did two rounds of blood tests and finally at around 8:30 PM, instructed the nurses to discontinue Mac's sedation. Ted and Margaret finally left with Leona a little before mid-night when they could barely stand. Shortly before 2:00 AM, with only Will in the room, MacKenzie regained consciousness. Will's head was resting beside her on the bed when he felt a hand caress his hair. He sat up slowly and looked into her open eyes.

"Kenz," he whispered softly. "My love . . . my life. You're awake." Tears filled his eyes and started to make their way down his cheeks. Mac touched his face and gently brushed them away. "You came back to me . . . You came back. You're going to be fine. The baby's fine." Mac closed her eyes in what Will could see was relief. "They say they are going to take you off the ventilator tomorrow and in a few more days you'll be able to go home. Mac . . . Kenz, I'm so sorry. I should never have made you walk out there will me. I'm so sorry . . . So sorry . . . " Mac put the fingers of her left hand to his lips to stop his apology, but she was powerless to stop him from breaking down and sobbing, sobbing in guilt and sobbing with relief. 

 

It took three attempts the following day to wean Mac off of the ventilator before she could breathe well enough with only supplemental oxygen not to set off the alarm on the saturation monitor, but finally just as the sun was setting and Ted, Margaret and Will watched, she started breathing successfully on her own. After about an hour of Mac being able to sustain an acceptable blood oxygen level, Margaret called and gave Tommy and Nessa and Jules the good news. After another hour, Dr. Fischer announced that the ventilator could be removed. He suggested that the family should step outside while this was done, and at that point, Ted told MacKenzie that her parents were tired and were going to leave and go back to Leona's and get some rest. Promising to return the next morning, they kissed their daughter's forehead, and then when they parted from Will in the hallway, they hugged and kissed their son-in-law and told him that they felt much better about Mac's condition and that he should go home and get a good night's sleep in his own bed.

"Do you think he will?" Ted asked Margaret as they got into the elevator.

"I think the very last thing Will can face right now is getting into their bed without Mackie," his wife replied. "Are you really that tired?"

"No. I just felt like they need a little time alone. She'll be able to speak when they get the ventilator out and I . . . Well, they should have some privacy . . . " he trailed off as his wife's hand came up to cup his chin and she placed a chaste kiss on his lips. 

Will returned to the room and insisted on holding his wife's hand while the ventilator was removed, even though the sight of the tubes coming out of MacKenzie's nose and throat almost made him crazy. Then, she looked at him and said simply, "Hi, Billy." If there was a sweeter sound on the planet, he had never heard it. The respiratory therapist put the oxygen cannula into Mac's nose, which prompted her to ask whether it was really necessary, to which both he and Will answered, "yes" in unison. He then prepared the medications for a nebulizer treatment. As he was about to put the mask on Mac's face, he turned to Will.

"Since you are going to be doing this at home," the therapist said to Will, ignoring Mac's outraged expression at the thought, "why don't you participate. One easy way to tell if she breathing right is to have her sit up against you. So go ahead and get up on the bed and sit her resting against your chest." Will didn't need to be asked twice. At the feel of MacKenzie's body against his once again, Will's throat closed and his chest swelled with so much emotion that he struggled desperately not to let the tears stinging his eyes flow down his cheeks. If he was supposed to monitor her breathing this way, he thought, he was going to have to control the pounding of his heart and his own rapid and shallow breaths. The therapist didn't seem to notice and kept up a continuous monologue about the use of an oxygen concentration nebulizer to which Will was paying only the slightest attention. Then, the therapist started the nebulizer, removed the nasal cannula and put the nebulizer mask over Mac's face, instructing her to breathe as slowly and deeply as she was able. 

Being Mac, she immediately removed the mask and asked, "what's in here? I don't want any . . . unnecessary medications . . . or anything that is even . . . remotely potentially . . . harmful to . . . my . . . baby." By the time she finished she was breathing hard, wheezing and had dropped her blood oxygen saturation level low enough to set off the monitor. Will got her mask back in place before the therapist had the chance to reach out. Her inability to breathe panicked Will and he struggled valiantly to keep a calm expression on his face while he reminded himself that it was only a little more than 48 hours since a bullet had pierced her lung, and less than an hour since the ventilator was removed.

"The biggest danger to your unborn child is a lack of oxygen in your blood," Mark Fischer said, entering the room. "To answer your question, you are being given an inhalation of heparin to prevent blood clots at the surgery site, antibiotics to prevent infection and a bronchodilator to facilitate oxygen absorption, and of course, oxygen. All of the drugs and the dosages have been cleared by our OB chief as well as your regular doctor." Will felt Mac relax a bit as Dr. Fischer spoke. "We hope to have you off of the heparin and possibly the antibiotics by the time you are discharged, but you are going to have to use the nebulizer to deliver bronchodilator treatments for a few months at home as well as a rescue inhaler for sudden onset of wheezing and shortness of breath." When Mac made a face inside the nebulizer mask, Dr. Fischer laughed, recalling Dan Shivitz' prediction that MacKenzie McHale would balk at anything that made her feel like an invalid, the gunshot wound notwithstanding. "You'll get used to it," he said brightly. "And, it's only temporary." 

"Come on, sweetheart," Will whispered in her ear, "just relax against me and breathe." He kissed her hair and rubbed her left arm, her right still being secured to lessen any strain on the place where the bullet had entered her body. He could feel her breathing become more rhythmic and her inhalations become deeper, although she winced when she tried to take a really deep breath. Will heard Dr. Fischer ask her to raise one finger if the pain felt like it was in her lung and two fingers if it felt like it was her ribs. She raised two fingers on her left hand, and he said, "very good. Your rib was cracked by the bullet so inflating your lung to the point that it presses on the break will be painful. You don't need to push it. You need to inflate your lungs as fully as is comfortable, but you don't need to cause yourself pain. Are you in pain now?" When Mac shook her head, he checked her saturation level and told her that breathing the way she was put her at 98 percent which was "great." 

Fischer turned to Will and said, "they had that kid on ABC News tonight, you know, the journalism student who got the video of the shooting. Seems like a nice guy. Says he's had a few job offers since the shooting for when he graduates, but his dream is to work for you two at ACN."

"I've not seen the video," Will replied. I know it's on YouTube, but . . . I'm not sure I'm ready to watch it."

"Yeah, I can certainly understand that. May I ask, were you aware that you were going to have to go across broken glass to get to her before you started, or didn't you notice what was on the ground?"

"Honestly, I don't remember what I thought. Actually, I don't remember getting from where I went down over to the car." 

Fischer nodded. "It's an amazing demonstration of love and commitment." Then, telling Mac that he would be back the next morning, he was gone. When the nebulizer reservoir finally ran dry after about ten minutes, the respiratory therapist took off the mask and replaced Mac's nasal cannula. Will got up off the bed and sat down in the chair beside it where he could see her face. He took her left hand in his and kissed her fingers.

"I'm going to hate this," she said simply.

Will chuckled. "Yes. You are." 

A nurse came in and took Mac's blood pressure and checked her pulse. She also informed Mac that she would be getting a dinner tray with "soft foods" for the first time that evening, and that Mac should try to eat something. Mac groaned at the thought of eating hospital food. The nurse only smiled. Then, as she was leaving, she turned back and said, "Dr. Shivitz should be in to see you in a moment."

"Shivitz? Shivitz!" Mac exclaimed. "That's it! Billy. Shivitz! Shivitz was Danny's last name!"

"Still is, Mac" said a voice at the door.

Mac looked up at Will, her eyes shinning. Then Will watched MacKenzie's face flush with delight as Dan Shivitz entered the room. "Danny? Oh my God! Danny! It is you! I can't believe it," she gasped. Then just as quickly, Mac's eyes filled with tears that quickly spilled over and down her cheeks. Dan crossed to the bed and embraced her. 

"Oh, MacKenzie. It's so wonderful to see you awake again. Shush, shush, babe, don't cry. Mac, please don't cry." She tried to control it but ended up just holding onto him and crying herself out as he stroked her hair. Danny looked up and smiled at Will, not a shred of embarrassment or apology evident in his gaze to acknowledge that he was holding tight to the woman who was Will's wife. 

The three of them spent the next few hours together, but they didn't talk about Kabul or the events through which their lives had intersected. Instead, they caught up with the present -- Will and Mac's secret wedding, the Dantana lawsuit, News Night's recent success and following among young people. MacKenzie insisted that Will had to go back to work and do Monday night's broadcast. Will knew she was right. Neal had told him that there were rumors starting on the internet that the Shiner video had been doctored to conceal the fact that Will McAvoy had actually been killed in the attack. She said that maybe they could put a video conferencing feed in and she could produce from the hospital. 

Mac was happy to learn that Danny had stayed with obstetrics and that his brilliance was being recognized, as was evident from his recent appointment to head the department. But what clearly thrilled her the most was hearing that he was married and had a baby boy. Danny produced from his pocket a series of prints of amazingly detailed 3D computer enhanced ultrasound images of Will and Mac's baby, which he gave to them. He also announced that he had emailed copies to Dr. Barrington, and based on these, Denise concurred in his prediction that MacKenzie was carrying a daughter. Danny and Will combined to cajole and then bribe Mac (with the promise of a kosher pastrami sandwich the following day) to choke down some of her "dinner," which consisted of cottage cheese, jello and tapioca pudding. Finally, he announced that he had permission to move Mac out of the ICU and up to a room on his floor.

"We have these birthing or post-partum rooms with king beds so Will can sleep beside you and be a hell of a lot more comfortable than he's been for the last few nights." Danny smiled. "I can tell you that these chairs are not the kindest things on your back and neck." He rolled his shoulders as Will explained that Danny had kept watch over her the first night after insisting that he get some rest. "These rooms were remodeled about fifteen years ago and decorated like a bad imitation of the Ritz-Carlton," Danny continued. "Rivka says that it's like someone decided that it was every wealthy New York woman's dream to give birth in a hotel room." Everyone froze. "Oh, God, Mac. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No. Don't be silly," she replied after a second, smiling at Danny. Will could see that it was that over-bright smile of hers that he knew far too well, which did nothing to lessen the pain in his gut. She chuckled, but it had a forced sound to Will's ears. "I can assure you that giving birth in a hotel room isn't everything it's cracked up to be. This time, I'm going for a hospital and drugs." She looked at the still stricken expression on Danny's face, and reached for his hand. "Danny, we are going to have to talk about Kabul. Maybe not today. But someday soon. I need you . . . I need you to help me remember things I can't seem to recall on my own. It's okay, Danny," Mac said, squeezing his hand. "Really, it is." But Will would always wonder if the dream that night would have happened if not for that part of the conversation. Similarly, even Dr. Fischer's assurances that he was actually glad that it had occurred while MacKenzie was still in the hospital did little to lessen Dan Shivitz' obvious discomfort and belief that his blunder had triggered it. 

A few minutes after Dan left, the respiratory therapist gave Mac another nebulizer treatment and then they got her up and into a wheelchair for the move upstairs to the maternity floor. Again Will fought down his alarm at how out of breath she became from that small amount of exertion. Each day she would heal he reminded himself. Each day would be better. And indeed, as soon as MacKenzie was settled in the king sized bed on the maternity floor and the flow of oxygen through the nasal cannula was adjusted, everything seemed fine. Will changed into the scrubs he had been using as pajamas, climbed in beside her, drew her to him and with relative ease, they both fell asleep. 

He awakened to the sound of her moaning, murmuring and thrashing slightly. "Kenz," he said softly into her ear, "Kenz, wake up, sweetheart, wake up." It was as though his words had the exact opposite effect than was intended. 

She descended into the depths of the nightmare, and screamed out, "No! No! Don't take . . . him . . . Danny . . . Please . . . please . . . no . . . don't . . . don't . . . " Will held her as tightly as he dared for fear of hurting her wound. He felt her heart rate increase rapidly as her breathing became ragged and wheezy. Within seconds, an alarmed looking nurse pushed open the door and entered the room. 

"What's going on?" she demanded. "The oximeter is going off. Her heart rate and blood pressure are up!"

"Nightmare," Will answered breathlessly. "She has them a lot."

"Okay. Okay. She'll be fine." The nurse said, seeing the fear on Will's face. She quickly prepared medications for the nebulizer, adjusted the oxygen flowing into it and replaced the nasal cannula with the face mask, which Mac promptly tried to remove. "Hold her hand, keep it away from her face," the nurse commanded Will as Mac thrashed and moaned. "I'm going to call Dr. Shivitz about sedating her.

"No! Wait!" Will shouted. "Give me a couple of minutes with her before you give her any more drugs? Okay? Please?"

"I'll be back in after I speak to Dr. Shivitz. I'll tell him and we'll see what he wants to do."

"Kenz . . . Kenzie . . . Mac . . . it's okay," Will crooned as he began kissing her neck. "Wake up . . . You're fine . . . You're here with me." He punctuated every couple of words with a kiss down her neck and shoulder and onto her breast, as he stroked the left side of her body. "It's me . . . Billy . . . You're safe." He thought he felt her begin to relax a little. She stopped shuddering and after a little while her eyes opened. "Kenz." He stroked her hair from her face. "Shush," he said when she tried to talk, "just relax and breathe," he said, still alarmed at the degree to which despite the nebulizer, she was still gasping and wheezing. "They'll take the mask off just as soon as the medicine is finished."

They didn't sedate her for which Will was grateful. After the nurse removed the nebulizer, she replaced the nasal cannula that Mac had been using with one that delivered a higher volume of humidified, warmed oxygen, and then left them alone.

"Billy, I dreamed I was in the military hospital. It was clearer than . . . I remembered more about the room I was in. Danny was there. He handed William . . . William's body . . . to me . . . I saw his face."

"Please, Mac," he said brokenly. "I'm worried . . . You need to not upset yourself to breathe properly."

"Okay," she reached up and touched his face. "Okay. I'll stop. It's just . . . I think . . . I think, Billy . . . He looked a bit like you."

"Please . . . " he said brokenly. 

"I'm okay. I'll do everything they ask. I promise." He could tell that she was inhaling slowly and deliberately. "I'm going to take good care of Charlie."

"I know you will, sweetheart. I know."

"Kiss me, Billy."

 

The next morning, they decided that although Will would continue to sleep and spend every available moment at the hospital, he should return to ACN on Monday and do the evening broadcast. Staring at the ultrasound images for the hundredth time, they talked about names. Charlotte for sure. Charlotte for Charlie because he was Will's father in every sense but biology. And Charlie because if he had given up on them, well neither of them wanted to think about that. Will wanted to give her his mother's name, and so she became Charlotte Elizabeth. Will asked if they should also give her Mac's mother's name just to be fair, but since Margaret had let it be known that she had never been particularly fond of either her given name or any of its nicknames, they decided to use Morgan instead. Morgan was Margaret's maiden name and the name she had given Mac to honor her brother. They also decided that even though Mac would have liked to have been there, with everyone clamoring to visit and the fetal monitor in plain view, Will should tell the staff about the existence of Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy. 

And so the following morning, after showering and shaving and dressing in fresh clothes that Lonny brought in, Will went back to ACN. The sight of the plywood where the plate glass window had been gave him a turn, but otherwise, he thought he did okay. Everyone had asked about Mac (he even had emails from Nina and Brian Brenner) and the News Night staffers hugged and comforted him. When he got to his office, Will stood looking at the Valentine's Day heart that was still taped to the outside of his door. Had it been just two years since the day he had ripped a similar paper heart in half and taped it back up to let everyone know that Mac had broken his. No, he thought to be ruthlessly honest, he had taped that broken heart up there up as a message for one person only. His only intent had been to remind MacKenzie that she had ripped out his heart, a crime for which there was no forgiveness. Tears smarted his eyes. And how had she responded? How she always responded, by, in her words, loving him more than her life. He carefully detached the heart. 

"No ripping it in half this year," Kendra joked as she walked by. Since he didn't trust his voice, Will only nodded.

He took the heart into his office and carefully taped what he thought was the best of the ultrasound images into the center. Then, he replaced the bright red heart on his door. Pleased with his handy work, he went inside to compose a few minutes acknowledging the shooting with which he intended to close that evening's broadcast. He heard the murmurs outside his door as people walking by to the rundown meeting, stopped to look at the photo on the heart. He stood and walked out, trying not to smile too broadly.

"What is that?" Maggie asked as soon as he'd emerged.

"You mean who is that?" Tess amended.

"It's a picture of my daughter," Will said simply.

"You have a daughter?" Maggie asked, clearly thinking of someone born years before Will came to ACN. "Does Mac know?" she asked with obvious concern. Out of the corner of his eye, Will caught Jim turning away to hide a smile.

"Yes, she knows." Will said simply.

"Where is she?" Maggie asked, still a prisoner of her own preconceptions. "Your daughter, I mean, obviously we all know where Mac is."

Before Will could answer, Neal, who had leaned in to get a better look at the photo, let out a whoop of realization and delight, not unlike the one with which he had greeted the news that Will had asked Mac to marry him. "That's a date code," he said pointing to a sequence of numbers in the lower left hand corner of the image, "this was taken . . . " He turned to look at Will. "She's inside . . . " he breathed, as Will's smile broadened, "inside of Mac."

As pandemonium reigned in the newsroom, with everyone crying and hugging and kissing Will and each other, Jim slipped out his phone and recorded the scene so he could share it when he went to see MacKenzie later that day.


	34. Home

MacKenzie McHale McAvoy was going home! It had been a week and four days since the shooting. An MRI had confirmed that her wounds were healing without blood clots or infection and Dr. Fischer had discontinued the heparin and cut back significantly on the antibiotics that she was inhaling through the nebulizer. She had been doing physical therapy on her right side and was able to raise her right arm to almost 80 degrees from her body. Mac's father had returned to London after a few days, but her mother was staying on in New York, partly to be with MacKenzie after she was released from the hospital, and partly because she was having fun running around New York with Lee. 

For three days now, MacKenzie had been able to walk a full circuit around the OB floor and go down in the elevator and outside into the hospital garden without using supplemental oxygen. They would be taking home a machine that would pump high flow humidified and heated oxygen through a nasal cannula for emergencies, which Mac knew translated mostly into nightmares (there had been two more), and she would be required to continue sleeping with an oximeter on her finger. Jacob Habib had visited her after the first nightmare, called in by Will, she assumed, and a couple of times after that. These had been visits, not really sessions, but they had talked some about the dreams, each of which was essentially a replay of holding William's body for the last time in the military hospital. Will had recounted Dan Shivitz' recollection of the events to Habib. MacKenzie still did not recall saying that the baby had his father's chin although the feeling that somehow he had looked like Will was there in each of the dreams. The last time Habib was at the hospital, two days before Mac's release, Will and Dan Shivitz happened to be standing in the hall when he emerged from Mac's room. Will introduced Shivitz and Habib. 

"She's really doing well when you think about it," Habib had said to them. "She's had a violent trauma of a nature that would be expected to trigger a PTSD flare up in anyone. On top of that, this pregnancy's getting real. She's seen pictures of the child inside her. In addition, there's you." Habib gestured to Shivitz. "You are more closely related and integral, really, to the central trauma of her life than anyone other than Will. But unlike Will, you were present for everything but the very worst moments of it. She kept you at bay for a lot of years by blocking your last name. And now, you pop up here right on the heels of the shooting." The young psychiatrist shook his head at the ironies of life. "That she's been able to talk to you and deal with you without it provoking flashbacks and panic attacks . . . " Habib couldn't seem to decide how he wanted to finish that thought, so he just smiled a sort of loving smile of wonderment. 

Danny spoke, "So, it's been good then that we've . . . I've not let any conversation with her go near the subject of the baby . . . the first baby, I mean. She says she wants me to help her remember things about the hospital and seeing the baby's body, but I've known that she needs to be well physically before we go there." Will knew that the closest they had come to discussing Mac's time in Kabul had been one evening while having dinner in Mac's room with Dan and Rivka. Dan and Mac were reminiscing about an evening walk they had taken during which they got lost and wandered out of the green zone. Mac had suggested that Danny take off the kippah that was hidden under a baseball cap just in case the cap might somehow get removed from his head while they were in hostile territory. He related that when he'd argued, Mac had "slammed him up against a wall and chewed his ass," at which point, Will had interrupted, saying in mock outrage, "well, now, I really am jealous! Here I thought I was the only person Mac slammed up against walls and chewed out." 

Habib confirmed that staying away from the more painful aspects of Mac's stay in Kabul was wise, especially since her breathing, already a concern, was a problem when she became emotionally upset, and a critical issue during a panic attack. Habib concluded, however, that overall Mac was remarkably well. Looking at both Dan and Will, he said, "I'd say under the circumstances, a couple of nightmares are about as good as it could be. She's . . . Her strength is just amazing."

As Habib walked away, Shivitz turned to Will. "Another member of the club?" he asked, his eyebrows raised and a devilish twinkle in his brown eyes. When Will only smiled, Dan continued, "Let's see, we've got Harper, for certain. Not totally sure about Neal . . . I could throw in Charlie Skinner . . . kind of the senior contingent. Maybe we should organize. You know, have annual meetings in cool places like Vegas and Barbados." Will couldn't help but laugh.

"What are you two giggling about?" Mac demanded, appearing in the doorway, as they both struggled to put on straight faces.

Both Will and MacKenzie had learned to operate the oxygen machine, oximeter and the nebulizer, although Mac imagined that Dr. McAvoy, as she teasingly called him, would be taking charge of her treatments once they got home. No one was more excited than Will that she was leaving the hospital, and she loved seeing the worry lines fading from his brow as her health improved. So what if she was hiding from him the degree to which she wheezed and her chest felt tight after any kind of exertion or the number of times she needed to use the rescue inhaler in order to get a lungful of air.

As the big day approached, Will and Mac started to argue about MacKenzie's returning to work. The contention between them got to the point that Charlie had intervened and announced that he would make that decision, which only had the effect of putting him in the crosshairs with both Will and Mac lobbying incessantly for him to decide their way. Mac, of course, saw no reason why she couldn't return immediately, reasoning that she could do anything she was going to do at home in the studio. Although she loathed the idea of being dependent on the nebulizer, almost everyone who would see her using it at ACN had already been at the hospital and witnessed at least one of her treatments. Charlie finally declared a complete moratorium on the return-to-work discussion for a period of one week after Mac got home. After that time, Mac could come into the studio for a "test day" after which the conversation could resume. Anyone breaking this rule would be fined $1000 to be put into a kitty to pay for staff lunches. Father had spoken.

It was hospital policy that all newly discharged patients had to be taken down to the lobby in a wheelchair so MacKenzie had no choice. Danny told her to consider it a dress rehearsal for when Charlie was born. Mac knew that he desperately wanted to keep caring for her and deliver the baby, but was hesitant to step on Denise Barrington's toes. It was like closing a circle for him, she supposed. After all, it was he who had fixed her up, made this possible, and sent her back to have more of Billy's children (the memory of telling him to bloody well go fuck himself came back to her in a blaze of mortification one afternoon while they were sharing a brisket sandwich). She figured she would talk to Denise about Danny participating and about what had happened to her first baby, a conversation Mac knew was long over due. 

 

Finally, D-day arrived. Mac showered and dressed. She had breakfast with Will and then a breathing treatment that he set up and administered under the nurse's supervision. Then they went down for a visit with David Hendrickson. Both Will and Mac had bonded with the young man in the aftermath of his and Mac's ordeals. David was off the ventilator and recovering more slowly than Mac, but recovering steadily nonetheless. When Will and Mac walked into David's room, they found his parents, Paul and Melissa, and an attractive, small blonde woman who looked to be nineteen or twenty, and whom Paul introduced as "Carrie, David's friend from school." Carrie squealed when she recognized Will and kept repeating, "oh, my God!" as she shook Will's and Mac's hands. Finding a stranger in the room, Mac started to move away from Will's side, but he kept his arm around her waist where he had put it as they walked in. David explained that the tongue-tied Carrie was also active in Greater Fools at NYU. She turned out to be sharper than she had first appeared, and quickly spotted the rings on Mac's left hand.

"You're married!" she said, making both Will and Mac jump and look guilty, gesturing to Mac's left hand hanging down by her side.

"Oh! Yes," Mac replied, smiling and automatically rotating her engagement ring. "But please . . . I don't really want it to become common knowledge, so please don't update my Wikipedia page or tweet it or say anything at NYU . . . "

"Oh, yes. Sure. Is he a journalist too? Your husband?" Carrie couldn't resist asking, thinking of the guy who had written the New York magazine article and who had claimed to have a personal relationship with McHale. The question made Will reflect, as he had many times beginning with his days as a prosecutor and as recently as the week before with Maggie, how people see and hear, or don't see and hear things based on their own preconceptions and expectations.

"Yes, he is, " Mac replied smoothly.

"Oh, goodness, Mac, do you want to sit down?" Melissa Hendrickson interrupted, jumping up from the chair she had been occupying next to David's bed.

"Really, no. Thank you. I'll stand. I'm so sick of being an invalid," Mac replied passionately.

"Tell me about it," David's voice chimed in.

"You were both shot just a . . . Melissa began to lecture her son.

"Thanks, Melissa, she'd love to sit," Will interrupted, his voice calm and commanding. As Mac whirled on him, eyes blazing, he said, "You need to sit down and rest." He gazed straight into her eyes. "Kenz, you're taking too many breaths per minute." She looked down to where his arm wrapped around her and his hand rested on her diaphragm. "Now, sit, or I call a nurse." Mac plopped down like a recalcitrant child, still glaring at him. 

Then, everyone noticed that Carrie was staring open-mouthed at Will. 

"Yes," he smiled boyishly. "It's me. And to think she said I'm a journalist . . . " He bent down and kissed the top of MacKenzie's head. " . . . instead of a ratings hack. I can now die a happy man." He beamed at Mac until her scowl was finally broken by a slight smile that played at the corners of her lips. She was breathing better getting off her feet, Will thought. He knew she'd rather die than use a rescue inhaler in front of all these people so he decided to just leave the one she didn't know he carried in his pocket. "We're not telling many people outside of our families," he went on, "for a variety of reasons, one of which was to protect Mac from the death threats, and we can see how well that one worked out. Nevertheless . . . " he shrugged. "Carrie, we'd be pleased to have you join our little band of conspirators." Carrie looked like she'd just been invited into both Phi Beta Kappa and the coolest sorority on campus at the same time.

Will and Mac made sure they had exchanged email addresses and cell phone numbers with the Hendrickson's ("you actually have Will McAvoy's cell phone in your address book," Carrie had cooed at David, making Will wonder if it would be enough to get the kid laid) and then got contact information for Tony Diamanté, who had gone back to Cleveland as soon as David had been taken off the critical list. And then it was time to go. They hugged David, Paul and Melissa. When Carrie put out her hand, and Will grabbed her in a bear hug, Mac thought the kid might actually faint. The old McAvoy magnetism at work, she mused, and who said elitist and erudite can't be sexy.

They returned to Mac's room, where Will kissed her as if he were never going to see her again, rather than be parted for a quarter hour at most. They had decided that they shouldn't be seen leaving the hospital together on the off chance that Dantana and his counsel had missed the import of the Shiner video or Will's getting overly emotional on air a few nights before when interviewing a right wing Congressman who seemed to be suggesting that the Second Amendment protected the gunman's right to decide that MacKenzie McHale's liberal socialist ideas posed a threat to freedom and democracy. So, running a hand down her cheek in parting, Will left the hospital by the staff entrance that he always used, and walked with Lonny to the corner where Leona's car was waiting. Then Lonny returned, helped Mac into her coat, and escorted her downstairs and out the lobby entrance to where the car, now carrying Will, Leona and Margaret, was waiting for them. 

Mac thanked God that Will had left earlier and that she had insisted on getting out of the wheelchair in the lobby and walking out the door to the car. Although, they had discussed the possibility that there might be some media camped outside the hospital, Mac was totally unprepared for the volume of reporters and paparazzi. "Smile," Lonny whispered in Mac's ear when he noticed that she looked like a rabbit staring down the barrel of a gun. "Yes," she breathed, and raising her chin a fraction, she smiled and waived like the conquering hero. 

"Good God!" She exclaimed, as soon as she was settled inside the stretch limousine between her mother and husband. "What a nightmare!"

"Not my idea of a good time," Lonny agreed, glancing surreptitiously at Mrs. Lansing to see if she considered his speaking without being addressed to be untoward or too familiar. 

 

By the time they had all made it into the elevator and were traveling up to the apartment, Will could see that Mac was worn out. As the elevator door opened, Will reached down and swept her up into his arms. When she protested, he asserted that it was a rule that he was entitled to carry is wife across the threshold as many times as he liked during the first year of marriage. "Is that so?" she whispered, nuzzling his ear in a way that reminded him that he was horny as hell. But dear God! She was so light again, he thought. All the weight she had gained since he'd stopped torturing her with Nina and she'd stopped blaming herself for Genoa had melted away in the hospital. Well, they would just have to put it back on her again. Loraine had catered a delicious looking lunch that was waiting for them all, and Will debated whether to annoy Mac by telling everyone that she needed a nebulizer treatment before they ate or just let it go until after lunch. As he heard Leona instructing Loraine to set two more places at the table so that she and Lonny could join them, and looked at Mac's relaxed and smiling face, he decided to just deposit her in her chair at the head of the dining table. 

The food tasted every bit as good as it looked, and Mac ate with more gusto than Will had expected. Her breathing was a little more rapid and shallow than normal, but she didn't appear to be in any real distress, and after she excused herself for a brief trip to "use the loo," she seemed to breathe a little easier. Leona got Lonny started on modifications that he would make to AWM's building security and crowd control procedures and everyone joined in and debated whether blocking off a part of the lobby and admitting fans through a metal detector would be a safer way of allowing them access to Will. By the time Loraine served coffee, green tea and Mac's favorite Scottish shortbread "biscuits," everyone, including Will, had relaxed back into believing that "normal life" was once again possible.

By the time Will and Mac closed the door after saying good-bye to Lee, Margaret, Lonny and Loraine (who Will had to practically wrestle away from doing the dishes), he figured that he had a little less than three hours before Lonny would return to take him to the studio and Margaret would arrive to stay with Mac until he got home. It had been well over six hours since he had administered the breathing treatment to Mac in the hospital and he could hear her wheezing as he led her to the bedroom and instructed her to lie against a pile of pillows he had heaped onto the bed while he got things ready. He pulled the oximeter out of the bag of equipment and disabling the alarm, put it on Mac's finger. The readout displayed 89%. Low, not alarmingly so under the circumstances, but low enough that he knew Danny would want her on oxygen as quickly as Will could make it happen. He hooked up the nebulizer to the oxygen tank rather than the concentrator figuring that he'd get a higher volume of oxygen faster that way, and quickly measured out the antibiotic and bronchodilator medications, filled the reservoir and turned on the compressor. Mac was now using a tubular mouthpiece instead of the mask, and as soon as the vapor appeared he handed it to her and she put it in her mouth, wrapped her lips around the tube, and drew the medicine and oxygen, gratefully, it appeared to Will, into her lungs. 

Will climbed onto the bed and pulled her against him so that he could monitor the movement of her diaphragm as she breathed. She lay against him with her eyes closed, pale and weak, clearly using all of her energy and concentration to keep the medicine flowing evenly into her damaged lungs. He had a moment of railing against the fates, asking why this had happened to her of all people, but quickly put it out of his mind when she seemed to sense something was wrong and opened her eyes to give him a questioning look. After about five minutes on the nebulizer, her saturation level was back up to the good range and a little color had returned to her cheeks. 

She opened her eyes and looked up into his face. Then, she slowly moved the nebulizer mouthpiece as if she were going to take it out of her mouth, but keeping her lips around it so that they slid over the tube. Then she reversed direction slowly pushing the mouthpiece back, a very sly smile playing around her eyes. She repeated the motion twice. It was one of the most erotic fucking things Will had ever seen and every cell in his body responded. When she did it a fourth time, a moan escaped his lips, and his groin began to ache as his erection pressed against his jeans. Okay, he thought, two can play at this game. 

He slowly unbuttoned and removed her blouse and freed her breasts from the camisole that she wore because when she'd tried it on, her bra had pushed painfully on her wound and broken rib. He gently teased her left nipple with his tongue and heard her suck harder on the nebulizer. Uh? Maybe he was really on to something here, he thought. He unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks and slowly stroked her stomach all the while keeping his lips on her breast. Then he began to kiss his way down her torso. She was the one moaning now, as her breaths deepened further. He played his fingers lightly over the silk of her panties until he could feel them become wet with her desire and need for him. Dear God, he thought, what would he have done if that madman had taken her from him. Could he live like before, sitting in this apartment alone, smoking and drinking? Again, he forcefully directed his thoughts away from such things. 

He pulled her slacks down and off and removed his own jeans which had gotten to be just about unbearably tight. Then, beginning at her feet ("Billy, you're the only person who has ever kissed my feet," he recalled her saying not long ago), he worked his way up those glorious legs until his lips were spreading kisses over the inside of her thighs. "Billy," she moaned, taking the mouthpiece out for a moment.

"No, you don't," he gasped, breathless with his own arousal. "Put that back, or I stop," he warned, wondering how he would ever find the control to make good on that threat if she decided to call his bluff. Thankfully all he heard was the sound of her breathing again through the nebulizer. 

He used his teeth on the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. Slowly, he kissed and sucked until he sent her over into the first orgasm. Then with fingers and mouth he drove her up and over again and again, finally reaching for the nebulizer switch when the medicine was gone, and covering her mouth with his. He slipped inside her, gently, aware that it had been a while, and allowing her to set the rhythm and depth until she pulled him deeper. "I love . . .you. I'll never . . . leave you, Billy," she whispered into his ear as if she could read his deepest fears. 

Tears stung his eyes. "I . . . I couldn't . . . go . . . on . . . living . . . if something . . ." He shuddered out as he drove himself into her. 

"Shush," she put her fingers against his lips, and then closed her eyes and let the sensations of their mating take her. Finally, when she could control it no longer, she moaned out his name, and let herself convulse around him, as he emptied himself deep inside her. When she had drifted off to sleep, her breathing deep and even, Will carefully put the saturation monitor back on her finger. It read 99%. 

"There you go, Charlie," Will spoke softly against Mac's belly, "a little gift from Daddy."

 

Later, as Lady Margaret and her daughter were watching Will on News Night, Mac handed her mother a set of prints that were images from the ultrasound machine Danny had taken the day before. There seemed to be no doubt now that the fetus was female. "Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy," MacKenzie said simply in response to Margaret's delighted teary grin. Although her mother sometimes, well, to be honest, frequently, drove MacKenzie crazy, she found herself enjoying this quiet evening together. Even Margaret's fussing when the time neared for another breathing treatment and Mac began to wheeze and her blood oxygen saturation level fell to 90% didn't bother her as much as it ordinarily would have done. Mac allowed her to bring the nebulizer from the bedroom and help hook it up and measure out the medications. The only uncomfortable moment came when MacKenzie found that she had no plausible explanation or ready answer when her mother asked why there were teeth marks all over the mouthpiece.


	35. All's Well That Ends Well

"This is a lot of money to be spending on an anniversary," Ellie Diamanté observed for the, well, frankly, Tony had lost count of how many times, since they boarded their Friday afternoon flight from Cleveland to New York.

"Thank you," he murmured to the First Class Flight Attendant who was removing the china, silverware and linens that remained on his tray from his dinner. He heard Ellie politely refuse an offer of more coffee before their descent into JFK. "It's AWM's money," he reminded his wife yet again. 

The month before, Tony had missed spending his wedding anniversary with Ellie for the first time in 28 years. The 28th anniversary has no traditional designation, according to the internet search he had performed, but someone had given it the "modern" designation of "the orchid anniversary," and so there would be orchids a plenty waiting in their suite at the Plaza. The planning for this trip had begun as a casual conversation with Leona Lansing in the VIP OR waiting room at Beth Israel Medical Center, and now it was a full-blown AWM production, the highlight of which was a private dinner the next evening at the McAvoy's apartment for just the four of them. Ellie knew nothing of these plans. She thought that as a thank you for his actions the night of the shooting, AWM had bought them plane tickets and was paying for their hotel room. She was expecting that she would be having a weekend and week of shopping and Broadway plays (which she would, of course) and maybe a tour of ACN. Ellie didn't know that Will and MacKenzie were married and expecting a child, or that her husband was on a first name basis with one of the world's most powerful media moguls, or that in three days, he was going to be a guest on a special edition of News Night focusing on freedom of the press, gun control and the ACN Shooting, as it had come to be called in the media. 

Tony was getting used to being a celebrity. It had taken a few days for him to be identified as the man who had taken David Hendrickson from Will McAvoy's arms on the Shiner Video, but he had basically spent those days in a surreal fog, shuttling between his hotel and Beth Israel Medical Center, waiting for MacKenzie McHale and David Hendrickson to breathe again without mechanical intervention. By the time he emerged back into "the real world," he was being heralded in the media as "one of the heroes of the ACN shooting." The stewardess who had helped Ellie stow her carry on bag in the overhead compartment had recognized him almost immediately, and the service they were being accorded on the flight was impeccable. The strangest moment for Tony had come about a week before this trip, when he had been called into the conference room at his Cleveland accounting firm to attempt to mollify a disgruntled client whose company's audit had been delayed by the discovery of an error committed by one of Tony's firm's junior partners. The man was so in awe of meeting "a real hero," as he had put it, that all of his anger evaporated instantly and he was prepared to cheerfully agree to whatever extension of time Tony needed on the audit if only Tony would describe and give him "the inside scoop" on the events in New York.

It had been hard keeping the plans for this trip a secret from Ellie, especially the fact that she would not just meet Will McAvoy and MacKenzie McHale but sit down to dinner at their home. She had pointed over and over to the Shiner Video as evidence supporting her theory that Will and Mac were deeply in love with one another. Tony had said that he could sort of see what she meant, but as far as he knew (ha!) they simply had a strong mutual respect and affection as colleagues, and that McAvoy was in a state of shock (at least that much was true) when he crawled to McHale through the remnants of the plate glass window. "Bullshit!" Ellie had replied the first time they had gone through this charade, "I know lovers when I see them." Indeed you do, Tony had thought, recalling the utter devastation on Will McAvoy's face when he had looked down at the dark stains on his sweater and identified them as his wife's blood. 

 

After arriving late on Friday night, the Diamanté's spent Saturday morning luxuriating in their orchid scented suite, making love and having a late brunch from room service. Then they walked up Madison Avenue, window shopping and stopping into a boutique where Tony insisted that Ellie buy a scandalously expensive new outfit for that evening's dinner. He told her that they would be dining at the apartment of some people he had met standing outside of the ACN building before the shooting (which was the truth), one of whom he had helped after he'd been injured by flying glass (okay, sort of true). And so, showered and dressed and bearing a bottle of pinot noir that Tony had bought that afternoon, he and Ellie exited the cab in front of Will's building. Tony identified himself and his wife to building security, and after showing ID, they were directed to an elevator and whisked to the 18th floor. Tony knocked on the apartment door and took a step back to better observe his wife's face when it opened. There in the open doorway, dressed in her trademark Louboutins, chalk strip grey flannel slacks and a cream colored silk blouse, her brown hair curling slightly around her smiling face, stood MacKenzie McHale. Ellie simply held her breath and gaped at her. Flashing a quick grinning glance at Tony, Mac spoke to his wife.

"Hello. You must be Ellie," she said, extending her hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm MacKenzie. Please come in. Welcome to our home." Ellie's hand had come up mechanically to clasp Mac's, and since she hadn't fallen to the floor unconscious, Tony assumed that at some point, his wife had started breathing again. After Ellie let go of Mac's hand and crossed the threshold, Mac turned to Tony, kissing his cheek, while they mumbled greetings to one another. 

"Hey, Billy," Mac called, "our guests are here." Will McAvoy emerged from the kitchen, dressed in jeans, a button down shirt and a blue cashmere pullover that was roughly the color of his eyes. He looked far younger, more handsome, rested and happy than the last time Tony had seen him, which was when Tony had left the hospital to catch his flight back to Cleveland. As Will walked up to them, Tony put his arm around Ellie's waist to steady her since he assumed that her knees were going weak. 

"Ellie," Will said with a big smile, "I understand that congratulations are in order. Twenty-eight years of marriage." Then, turning to Tony, with a twinkle in his eye, Will asked, "may I kiss your bride?"

"Certainly," Tony replied, "however, like yours, she is her own woman so you'd better ask her." Tony loved it that Ellie apparently hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"May I?" Will asked Ellie, who seemed totally incapable of either speech or rational thought. Finally, she gave a sort of head bob that Will took as consent, and he leaned forward, whispered, "Happy anniversary, Ellie," and kissed her on the cheek.

Once seated in the living room, Ellie Diamanté slowly regained the power of speech. Will opened the bottle of wine that Tony brought to allow it to breathe, and offered Tony and Ellie, cocktails, beer or wine. Ellie asked for white wine and Tony and Will both decided on beer. "You're not having anything?" Ellie asked Mac. 

"Just water," Mac replied holding up the open bottle that had been sitting on the coffee table.

"Mac's a recovering alcoholic," Will joked.

"Really," Ellie said, taking him seriously.

"No," Mac interjected. "He just thinks it's a funny thing to say. You'd better watch it, buddy, or you're going to be overheard by the wrong people and my 'alcoholism' will end up in the tabloids, or worse, in Jerry Dantana's amended complaint." That engendered a lively discussion of the Dantana lawsuit, the Genoa report, the process by which fact checking and vetting occurs in television journalism and whether ACN and News Night were finally out of the woods credibility-wise. Ellie and Mac found that they liked each other enormously, just as Tony had expected.

It was Will who got to tell Ellie that she would be spending the day on Monday at ACN, including lunch in the Executive Dinning Room with Leona Lansing, Charlie Skinner, Mac and Will. She was invited to attend the rundown meetings and watch the preparations for and taping of the special edition focusing on gun control, a free press and, of course, the shooting. It would end with a round table discussion of the events by her husband, David, Paul and Melissa Hendrickson, Harry Shiner and Oscar Gutierrez, the security guard who had taken down the gunman, in addition to Will and MacKenzie, making a rare on air appearance.

This revelation produced a lull in the conversation, during which Ellie wiped her eyes and kissed Tony in gratitude for such an incredible anniversary gift. "To think it all started with a simple request for an autograph," Tony said. 

"Without which, I probably would not be alive," Will observed. "I don't think I've ever really thanked you for saving my life." Something about that thought seemed to trigger a realization that caused Will to jump up and say, "Mac! You're way overdue for your saturation test." Will could see Ellie's ears perk up and remembered that Tony had told him that she was a nurse.

"Oh, please, no. Couldn't we just skip it all for one evening?" Mac sighed, and as if her body were trying to betray her by giving the answer to her question, a slight audible wheeze could be heard.

"No, we can't," Will replied firmly. "It's important. You know that, Kenz." When she nodded in resignation, he said, "I'll get the meter and the nebulizer."

"God, no! I'll just go into the bedroom."

"No, stay here," Will said softly. "Don't run away. You can still listen to the conversation, even if you can't talk for a little while. Okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he left the room.

"God, I hate this!" MacKenzie exclaimed passionately, placing the heels of both hands against her temples and closing her eyes against the tears of frustration that threatened to well up. "I just want it over! I want to feel healthy again."

"You will," Ellie reassured her, "it hasn't been that long since you were wounded, really." Then she focused for the first time that evening on the rings on Mac's left hand. "MacKenzie! You're married!"

"What? Oh, yes." Mac smiled.

Ellie looked at Tony, who just kept a bland expression on his face. "To . . . " Ellie gestured towards the bedroom.

Mac chuckled, "yes, to Prince Charming in there," and made no attempt to keep the love she felt for Will out of her voice. 

Ellie turned to stare at Tony and then whack him on the arm in such a married way that it made Mac smile. "You've known this; haven't you? Mutual respect and affection as colleagues, my ass!"

Tony held up his hands in surrender, but said, "Mac, you have respect and affection for Will as a colleague, don't you?"

"Absolutely, Tony. There's no one at ACN I respect and affect more than Will McAvoy."

"There, you see," he said back to Ellie, who just huffed at him in mock disgust. 

When Will returned with the nebulizer and oximeter, Ellie, the nurse, unable to help herself, kicked into gear. She instructed MacKenzie to relax with her eyes closed for 30 seconds before measuring her oxygen saturation. At the end of Mac's first week home, both Danny and Denise had been unhappy with the number of readings below 90% she was getting before her breathing treatments and had put Mac on a new regimen, which involved frequent testing and greater use of supplemental oxygen.

"What's your treatment protocol?" Ellie asked Mac in a tone of cool efficiency, as Will clipped the meter on her finger.

"Ellie . . ." Tony drew out his wife's name in a way that was clearly meant to convey that this was none of her business and that Mac was her hostess for dinner, not her patient.

"No, it's okay." Mac said to him before turning back to Ellie and answering her question. "I'm supposed to monitor my oxygen level every hour. If it's below 95%, I'm supposed to go on supplemental oxygen through the nose thing. That's unless I'm due for a nebulizer treatment which is every four hours, unless the reading is above 95% in which case, I can go six hours. If I finish the nebulizer and I still test below 95%, I'm supposed to use oxygen until it's at 98%." 

"That's a very aggressive protocol." Ellie couldn't stop herself from observing, wondering if Mac had a serious heart condition or something else that made her a lot less heathy than she appeared.

"Ellie!" This time, Tony's displeasure with his wife was clear. The way her head snapped around toward him showed that she knew it too.

"Hey, Tony," Will injected himself between them. "Come out and give me a hand in the kitchen. We need to get this show on the road." Turning to Ellie, he said more softly, "the medication vials and dosages are in that bag. Mac can show you too." She smiled, understanding that Will wanted her to have this conversation with his wife. "Come on, Tony," Will said more forcefully, "let's go."

When the men had left the room, Ellie looked at the reading on the oximeter. 92%. Low. Not dangerous for a healthy adult, but clear evidence that MacKenzie's lungs were not yet functioning optimally. In addition, Ellie could hear the younger woman wheezing. "I assume since Will brought out the nebulizer that it's been at least four hours since you had a treatment." Mac nodded. "Why don't you just sit quietly and let me do the measuring," Ellie said in a soothing tone. Mac nodded again, and closed her eyes in a gesture that Ellie interpreted as resigned irritation. 

"MacKenzie, do you have a medical condition that is motivating your doctor to treat your breathing very aggressively?" Ellie asked in what she hoped was a casual tone while as she prepared the nebulizer.

Mac opened her eyes. "I guess you could call it a medical condition, although it sure didn't feel like it before I got shot. It used to feel like the best thing that ever happened to us," she said ruefully. Then, a smile started in the corners of Mac's eyes and spread to her lips. "I'm pregnant. Four and a half months pregnant. I hate putting . . . all of this medicine . . . into my body. I didn't so much . . . as take . . . an aspirin until . . . " Mac gestured in futility since they both knew what followed "until." Ellie could hear Mac's wheezing get louder as her resentment flared and the speed with which she spoke increased. 

"Yeah," Ellie said sympathetically, turning on the nebulizer and handing the mouthpiece to MacKenzie. As Mac began the treatment, Ellie continued, "I'm sure you've heard this over and over from your OB-GYN, but it's absolutely true - a lack of oxygen in your blood poses a far greater risk to the fetus than most bronchiodialators, especially the ones he has you on." Then the non-medical import of Mac's statement registered. "Oh, my God!" Ellie squealed, impulsively leaning over and hugging Mac. "You're pregnant! You and Will! Holy cow, a McHale - McAvoy production! You are both so brilliant. This kid's going to graduate from college by the time he's ten"

"She's ten." MacKenzie said, quickly resuming her inhalations.

"A girl! That's great. I've always thought having your first baby be a girl is the way to go. You said you're . . . What? . . . Seventeen or eighteen weeks along."

Her first baby. Mac nodded, but she was already overcome by the memory of being seventeen weeks pregnant with her first baby, with William. Right around seventeen weeks had been when she'd really given up, she thought. After the immediate agony of their breakup had subsided a little, Mac had kept going by convincing herself that Will would surely respond to one of the text, email or voice messages that she was sending him multiple times a day. But after three months of silence, another wave of anguish, almost worse than the first, had swamped her. Will was done with her. That was all there was to it. She had turned into a zombie, she thought, completely unable to eat or sleep, and after a while, unable to think of anything except how much she hurt. It wasn't long before she went to Charlie and asked him to help her save what was left of her life. And then, there had been Kabul. Funny, Mac thought, she could sit here in Will's, no, their apartment, knowing she was his wife, carrying his much wanted and loved child, and drown again, if she let herself, in the pain of that rejection. 

"MacKenzie . . .Mac, are you feeling alright?" Ellie Diamanté's voice registered in Mac's consciousness as if from a long way off.

"Yes, fine," she said and smiled as best she could around the nebulizer mouthpiece, falling back on her ability to cover pain with the appearance of cheerfulness. When the treatment was over, she got a 98% reading on the oximeter, which made her feel better. Ellie asked whether the idea of impending fatherhood had sunk in yet for Will, and Mac got to describe how he had figured it out all on his own, and say that he'd been wonderful when she was sick, and that he was devouring web blogs on parenting and had even been posting comments and was giving advice himself. Ellie told a very funny story about telling Tony that she was pregnant for the first time, and had laughed heartily at the stories of how Sloan and Nessa had stumbled onto the fact of Mac's pregnancy. When Will and Tony announced that dinner was served, Mac found that she actually felt as cheerful as she had earlier pretended to be.

Dinner was delicious (thanks to Loraine's and Will's talent as cooks) and the rest of the evening was great fun. After dinner, Will broke out his guitar and gave an impromptu concert in response to Mac's cajoling and Ellie's saying that she had read that he had performed in a couple small clubs a few years back. "That was a lot of years back," Will replied, "and I was bewitched into it by this beautiful woman here." After a little while longer and a round of a fine 12-year-old single malt Scotch that Will told them was one of two bottles that his father-in-law had hand carried from the UK, Tony looked like he could settle in and stay all night. But Mac's last saturation test had fallen to 93%, and although Will and Ellie gave her a reprieve from going on oxygen, Ellie's nurse's instincts could see that no matter how she tried to hide it, Mac was visibly exhausted. So she started moving her husband toward ending the evening by announcing that it was way past her bedtime. Everyone hugged and kissed and said they would see each other at ACN on Monday. 

During a last good-night at the door, Ellie declared that this was the best anniversary celebration of her life. Will suggested that they should make it an annual event. "And," he finished, beaming and kissing Mac's temple, "if you come back next year, Charlotte will be here . . . well, she already is here," he put his hand on Mac's abdomen, "but, you know, she'll be out on her own so you can be properly introduced." Mac just shook her head and smiled at him like he was a sentimental idiot, but an idiot whom she adored more than anything on earth. In that moment, Ellie thought that Will McAvoy and MacKenzie McHale were undoubtedly the cutest couple she had ever seen. And besides, it was always so rewarding being right!

 

Everything went well on Monday right up to the moment that it all went to hell. Will and Mac arrived at ACN around noon. Starting work late and taking an afternoon nap in Will's office were part of the compromise that MacKenzie had worked out with Charlie to allow her back into the studio three days a week. Will had also bought a nebulizer, oxygen machine and oximeter that were kept there and used on those days so she could adhere to Danny's and Denise's combined instructions that it was imperative that she keep her oxygen saturation levels monitored and up if she were going to insist on resuming her EP duties. 

Lunch with Charlie, Leona, Tony, Ellie and surprise guest, Margaret McHale, was very pleasant. The afternoon rundown meetings went well, run by Don and Jim, who were producing that evening's broadcast. Even Mac's lungs seemed to be cooperating, and she only had one really bad oximeter reading. But after napping with the nasal cannula, even that seemed to be fine. The Hendrickson's and Harry Shiner arrived around six, and they did a rehearsal of the panel discussion about gun control and went through what each of them felt comfortable discussing about their personal experiences on the evening of the shooting. Everyone ate dinner together, including Leona and Reece, who positively glowed with pride when Paul Hendrickson complimented him on his editorial the night of the attack. After dinner, Mac had a breathing treatment, and then it was show time. 

It happened almost at the end of the panel segment when everybody was in the home stretch and had relaxed. They were taking viewer's tweets and texts live and one of them asked the victims about long term ill effects of their wounds. David volunteered that he no longer had a spleen, to which Mac replied without thinking, that she didn't have a spleen either, hadn't for about four years, didn't miss it and didn't really know what a spleen did. Since she was looking across the news desk at David when she spoke, she didn't see Will, who was seated next to her, turn and stare. But she heard Don's voice in her ear saying to "get the fucking camera off McAvoy; that's right, go to camera 2; Melissa you're on." Then while Melissa Hendrickson had the presence of mind to say something about how she believed that the spleen assisted in the functioning of the immune system, Mac heard Don calmly speak to Will and tell him to "get back into the fucking game" and move the discussion on to something else by reading the tweet that Don was going to have put up on the monitor. It only took another second for Mac to put all of the pieces into place. She stifled the groan that rose in her throat.

The broadcast concluded without further incident, although Mac knew that Will was wasn't all there. But she also knew that he was good enough to do his anchor duties using only part of his mind. Sure enough, half of Will's mind was locked in an endless loop, contemplating the facts he knew. The scar, whose contours he touched everyday, was too long, angry and puckered to be the remnant of a flesh wound. Also, Jim's talking about fueling himself to save Mac's life with his hatred of "Billy" wasn't consistent either with the picture Charlie had painted for him of her wound as superficial. After they said good-bye to the Hendrickson's, Tony and Ellie and Harry Shiner, during which time Will had been preternaturally calm, he took his wife's arm and led her into his office. 

"Tell me why you no longer have a spleen," he commanded in the same unnaturally quiet voice.

"It was removed," she began.

"When? And don't bullshit me."

"Why on earth would I bullshit you?" she replied.

"Because someone sure the fuck has."

Mac sighed and drew in as deep a breath as her constricted lungs would allow. "Will, they took out my spleen . . . when I was operated on after the knife wound."

"Why? Where?"

"Because the doctors in Pakistan kind of botched things a bit. When they got me to Landstuhl, a few things were . . . my spleen had been nicked and it was bleeding slightly and . . . was septic . . . so they took it out."

"How long were you at Landstuhl?" He waited a moment and then repeated the question. "How long, Mac?"

"Oh, God," she whispered. I'm sorry, Charlie, she thought, but this was her marriage at stake. "Four weeks." He turned and walked out of the office.

She raced after him, across the bull pen and into the hall, but he'd already stepped into the elevator and the doors were closing when she almost caught up to her husband. She pressed the up button frantically. She knew where he had gone. 

By the time, she reached the hall outside of Charlie's office, she could hear Will yelling that it was "not fucking Leona and Reese after my ass," as if that were trivial. "This was MacKenzie! For Christ's sake, Charlie, MacKenzie!" The depth of the betrayal was evident in Will's voice.

"I know, son. Your life." Charlie, she could see, was doing his best to stay under control. Neither of them seemed to have noticed that she had entered the room.

"Don't call me your son . . . " Will's voice was suddenly cold, low and threatening. Mac saw Charlie flinch, but he stood his ground. An icy wave of terror rolled up MacKenzie's spine at the sound of Will's voice. Involuntarily, she brought her hands up to cover her ears, and half moaned, half whispered, "Billy," too softly to be heard by either of the men, who remained intent on one another. 

"I lied to you. It was a judgment call. I was scared for you."

"What kind of fucking bullshit is that?" Will spit the words out laced with bile.

"Will, that telephone conversation with MacKenzie from Kabul . . . when she asked me to let her out of her contract . . . she . . . her reaction to my saying that I would get you two in the same room if she came home, it was like she was terrified of you. She said she couldn't see you or face you ever again. I had no idea why. She screamed like . . . like I don't know what . . . a wounded animal . . . until she couldn't breathe . . . Then she dropped the phone. A man came on . . . I had no idea who the fuck he was . . . and said he would take care of her and I should hang up. I had no fucking idea what was going on . . . " Charlie's voice, which had started to rise when he began to speak, was now almost as loud and broken as Will's had been. "No fucking idea . . . I was in the goddamned dark about everything. What if you'd gone to Germany and she'd screamed that she never wanted to see you again to your face? Would you have survived? To risk you, I needed to know what the fuck was going on, but Mac was sedated and Ted didn't know."

Will stared at Charlie. His lips still twisted in anger and pain, but his eyes were filling with tears. Tears that were matched in Charlie's eyes. "How bad was she?" Will asked. "Truth." He said it like a command.

"The doctors said she had a fifty-fifty chance of coming through the surgery, but Ted didn't believe them. He thought they were saying that for Margaret." Will closed his eyes, but his fists remained clenched at his sides. "Ted and Margaret know what I did," Charlie continued. "Will, they know that if I hadn't stopped you, you would have been there, gone to her. I didn't tell them why I lied to you, kept you at home, just said it was the best for both you kids. They didn't press me." More quietly, Charlie said, "Will, son, I've replayed and second guessed my decision to lie to you everyday since . . . "

At some point while Charlie was describing their conversation, the fear engendered by the coldness in Will's voice triggered MacKenzie's memory of that afternoon in Kabul, and snippets of the call started coming back, as so many of those memories did, in semi-disjointed flashes. She had been at Danny's apartment when she called Charlie. Danny had brought her around when she lost consciousness in the panic attack. Thinking about it, she felt overwhelmed by pain and fear, just as she had been consumed by pain and fear on the call so many years ago. Just as she had felt lying in the foyer of Will's old apartment when he shook off her clutching hands and spoke to her in that cold, foreign tone of contempt. She felt trapped, as if under water. Her heart started to race erratically, the arrhythmia more pronounced than she'd ever remembered it, and she felt herself begin to sweat and shiver. She sank into one of Charlie's desk chairs as her vision tunneled and her ears rang. Her breathing, which had been rapid and shallow since she had raced to Charlie's office, now constricted beyond endurance. She gasped repeatedly but her lungs wouldn't fill or empty. She tried to reach into her pocket for the rescue inhaler, but she lacked sufficient coordination. As she slid from the chair to the floor, she heard Will's strangled cry.

Charlie was closer. Despite his still ailing knee, he dropped and got to her first. He felt Will rush up and started to move so that Will could take her.

"No! Here!" Will handed him a small red plastic inhaler. His anger at Charlie was forgotten, replaced by fear. "Stay with her! Try to get some of that into her lungs. She won't be able to coordinate her breaths so you are going to have to try to do it for her. Squeeze down on the silver canister when you see her try to breathe in. I'll be right back." And Will sprinted from the room.

Will ran as fast as he could for the elevator, pressing the down button as frantically as Mac had pushed the up button a few minutes before. Were her lips bluish, he asked himself. He remembered them turning slightly blue in the ambulance when her lung was collapsing, and thought they looked a bit that way now. The elevator finally came and he jumped in. Mercifully, he had it to himself, and he could lean against the wall and let the tears come and not have to pretend to be Will McAvoy. Oh, Christ, please let everything be alright. What had set her off? Please God, let her be alright. Let . . . No! He wouldn't even let himself think that . . . What had Danny said? That pregnant women have gone into cardiac arrest and then had healthy babies. The elevator doors opened on the News Night floor and he sprinted across the bull pen, ignoring the curious glances aimed his way by Neal and the couple of others still there. He got to his office, grabbed up the oxygen compressor and tubing and pivoted back out the door almost without slowing down. 

Upstairs, Charlie sat on the floor holding MacKenzie to him. She hadn't lost consciousness, although for a moment, her eyes had started to roll back. But he had shifted her position and that seemed to be enough to bring her around. After four attempts where she mostly ended up with albuterol in her mouth and on her tongue, Mac finally got some into her lungs. This relaxed the constriction enough that she was able to somewhat breathe in sync with Charlie pushing down the canister the next time and she could feel that inhalation begin to open and relax her airways. Her heart was still pounding, and the fear, although less overwhelming still gripped her mind. "I . . . remember . . . " she started to say, but found that she didn't have enough breath to continue.

"Shush, kiddo, don't try to talk. Will's gone to get . . . " Charlie was interrupted by Will racing back into the room and dropping to his knees beside them. His fingers felt clumsy and as large as sausages as he hurried to hook up the tubing to the oxygen compressor, turn it on, put the cannula into his wife's nostrils and secure it behind her head. Once the oxygen started flowing, Mac's breathing visibly improved, although it remained far from normal. But she insisted on talking to Charlie, to whom she continued to cling. 

"Charlie . . . I . . . re . . . member . . . the call. . . I was . . . scared. . . . I . . . when . . . I said . . . I'd . . . slept with . . . Brian . . . it was . . . like . . . Billy . . . van . . . vanished." Tears started to spill over and run down her cheeks.

"Mac, don't . . . Baby, don't . . . ." Charlie crooned, but Mac shook her head, and stared to speak again.

"He . . . be . . . came . . . some . . . one . . . I didn't . . . know. . . . He was . . . cold . . . ice . . . cold . . . a monster . . . who . . . hated me." Charlie felt and heard Will recoil at her words, pushing himself back away from them but staying on the floor. Charlie couldn't let himself think about what hearing MacKenzie refer to him as a monster had done to his boy. He'd deal with that later. Right now his only priority was getting Mac through this, and beyond everything else, protecting Charlotte's welfare. "In . . . Kabul . . . " Now MacKenzie was sobbing, gasping and wheezing, but somehow, maybe reflexively, still inhaling through her nose so that she was getting the benefit of the oxygen. Charlie wanted desperately to stop her from continuing, but some instinct told him that she needed the catharsis of recalling the conversation to him. 

"On . . . the call . . . when . . . you . . . said . . . . If I . . . saw . . . Will . . . I was . . . afraid . . . it . . . would be . . . the . . . same . . . . I never . . . stop . . . stopped . . . wanting . . . him . . . want . . . wanting to . . . be . . . with . . . him. . . . I . . . was . . . so . . . frightened . . . . he'd . . . he'd . . . hate . . . me . . . for letting . . . his . . . son . . . die . . . . I knew . . . I'd . . . deserve it . . . but I . . . could . . . couldn't . . . face . . . ."

"No!" Will roared, moving toward them, and pulling her away from Charlie, he took his wife into his arms and clasped her to his chest. "No, Kenz, don't ever say that. You didn't deserve it, any of it. I don't know what happened to me. I was a monster. I'm trying, I really am, to remember and understand why I did those things to you. But you have never, never done anything to deserve it. You've never done anything but love me. Through it all, you've loved me." Then he buried his face in MacKenzie's hair, and held her until her sobbing and then tears finally subsided. 

"I'm sorry," Will said simply, turning to Charlie, who had remained sitting on the floor next to them.

"No. Don't apologize. I should have told you what I'd done years ago, certainly months ago. You had every right to be upset. It was about MacKenzie and that is different from everything else, you were right."

Will just nodded. "Stay here with her, okay? I'm going to get her things and . . . Will you help me get her home and settled in? I've got a bottle of single malt Scotch that will make you forsake Bourbon." Charlie knew it was a peace offering, and as such, he accepted.

 

An hour and a half later, Mac was settled at home on the living room sofa wearing a faded Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt, a blue cashmere robe and a pair of woolly socks, and breathing through a nebulizer. Will had kept her on oxygen in Charlie's office until she got a 98% saturation reading. During that time, Charlie had confessed that he had gone alone to Landstuhl, and he and Will had made their peace about it. Then Lonny arrived and won a coin toss with Will for the pleasure of carrying Mac down to the AWM garage, and again from their building garage up to their apartment. ("You got to feed this woman, McAvoy," he'd said when he lifted her. "I am eating," Mac had protested, "pretty soon I'm not going to fit into any of my clothes." Then she and everyone else started laughing as Lonny said, "uh, Mac, your momma did explain . . . I mean, you know that's gonna happen, don't you, and it has nothin to do with eating.")

When Mac saw Will pick up a package from the hallway floor next to their apartment door, she asked, "What's that?"

"A present from Danny." Will had replied, as he opened the door.

"You called Danny?" Will's head snapped around at the accusatory tone in her voice. "When?"

"While you were getting your saturation levels back up. May I remind you that you scared us both fucking shitless," Will responded, gesturing to himself and Charlie, as they all crossed the threshold, with Mac still glaring at him. "Yes, I called Danny." He looked into her eyes and held them. She heard the fear that was still in his voice, and refrained from saying that she knew how frightened he had been and that was why she had consented to have Lonny carry her.

Shivitz's present was a fetal monitor, external variety. Will got the hang of it quickly and found the heartbeat on the first pass. Thank you, God, Mac prayed. They didn't need anymore frights that night. The readout was green (apparently it was color coded; green was good) and said 148. Strong and normal for seventeen or eighteen weeks. Mac could see the waves of stress and worry radiating off Will's body, as he calmed for the first time in hours. 

She agreed to use the nebulizer mask instead of the mouthpiece so she could just close her eyes and relax completely during the treatment. Will had suggested that she try to drift off to sleep, but the bronchodilator usually made her too jumpy to do that unless she had come a half dozen times. So she lay slightly curled on her side with her feet on Will's lap, and listened to the sound of him opening the locks on the vintage leather case that held the Scotch, and removing two of the four Waterford crystal Scotch glasses from where they were nestled in the velvet covered foam. She heard him placing the glasses on the coffee table, and then the sound of the cap being removed from the bottle, and the amber liquid being poured into them. She heard Charlie take a sip and give an appreciative moan.

"Where is this distillery?"

"Apparently, it's the private property of some Scottish peer. Ted knows him from somewhere or other. Produces about 100 bottles a year, all sold through subscription. If you find one on the open market, it means that the subscriber or his heirs have fallen on hard times."

"And you're serving it to me? I'm honored." 

"You're drinking the third glass I've poured. Ted and I had one each before the wedding. Got to make sure there's enough left to toast little Charlie when she's born."

Mac heard a clink of crystal, and big Charlie's voice saying, "to Charlotte, my namesake," to which, Will replied, "to Charlie, my daughter."

Okay, Mac thought, putting a hand over her expanding uterus. Everything is back to normal. We're all okay, Charlie, she spoke silently to the little life within her. Daddy doesn't usually get angry like that. He and I yell at each other a lot, as you will see, and Daddy and Grandpa yell at each other a bit too, but no one's ever really angry. This time though . . . . This was a big thing Daddy had to forgive. Mac took a deep breath. The medicine was working. It felt good. Turning her thoughts back to the baby, she told her daughter that a long time ago, a very famous man wrote, all's well that ends well. And today was certainly ending very well for the McAvoy's.


	36. Moondance

April 22, 2013, 6:47 AM

  

Will stepped into the shower behind his wife. He put his hands on her waist and then slid them around and over the growing roundness of her belly. It must be some sort of sickness, he thought, the degree to which he loved MacKenzie's body being pregnant. It turned him on even more than he remembered being excited by the slim, lithe thirty-year-old with whom he'd first fallen in love. He nuzzled her neck. 

"You can't possibly get it up again this soon, Billy."

"Should I take that as a challenge?" He moved his right hand lower and started kissing her shoulder. She leaned back against him. To his great pleasure, it appeared that everything he'd heard and read about second trimester sex was true. Of course, first trimester sex with MacKenzie had been spectacular too. Basically, since Election Day, neither he nor Mac could seem to get enough of each other. That her level of desire matched his suited Will just fine.

"Only if you want . . . " she gasped, distracted, as his fingers found their mark and began to circle, "to . . . explain to Rebecca why I'm late for . . . Oh, God, Billy. Stop. . . . my deposition."

"Whatever you say, Kenz. Your wish is my command." She whimpered softly as he withdrew his hand. He reached for the shampoo and began washing her hair. "Are you nervous? About the deposition, I mean?"

"Well, yes, some, but Rebecca's prepped me to death. And, she's going to instruct me not to answer any questions about William and Kabul. She's going to make them explain to the judge how it's relevant, and get her objections overruled. She thinks they kind of blew it making that motion to depose me early because now the court's primed to see the whole emotional instability theory as harassment." Will hadn't really needed to ask in order to learn Rebecca's strategy. They had been in close contact the entire previous week, honing, reworking and refining exactly how she intended to defend Mac when the questioning started.

Later, when Will and Mac were dressing, he stood and watched MacKenzie pull on the black silk maternity "trousers" that she had ordered from A Pea in the Pod. It had been about ten days since Mac had thrown in the towel and admitted that she could no longer get any of her skirts or slacks to zip or button, even wearing overblouses and using a hair tie as an expander (a trick Nessa had taught her). So, she and Will had gone online and ordered her a new wardrobe. He had practically opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate ("you're a sick, sick man; you know that, don't you, McAvoy?") but he knew that Mac had some misgivings about her expanding waistline. "Well, it's getting fat for a very good cause," was the best he could get out of her. To the trousers, she added a silk blouse that she left untucked in the current style and a loose cashmere Vince sweater that was one of her favorites. She hadn't given up wearing those incredibly high heels of hers and put on a pair, even though Rebecca had told her to wear "comfort clothes." Actually, he mused, to Mac, Louboutins probably were comfort clothes. It would not be a pretty day around the McAvoy domicile when the pregnancy finally forced MacKenzie McHale to wear flat shoes with business clothes.

"I don't look too pregnant, do I?" Mac asked. "Rebecca would rather they not catch on when they watch me walk through the door. 

"No, not really. The shirt and sweater are loose but it's the fashion." Will studied her, as a melancholy smile came to his lips. "You were wearing that sweater the day Gabby Giffords was shot."

"I was?" Mac asked, looking down to study her clothes. "I guess, I was. Wow," she sighed, "that was quite a day." After a moment of quiet reflection, Mac added, "I have so much more empathy for her now . . . It was also the day, as I recall, that I learned that you had agreed to have a non-compete clause inserted into your contract in order to be granted the ability to fire me at the end of each week. It was wonderful to feel so loved," she added in a voice laced with irony.

"It was, you know?"

"What?"

"Love. I had no idea how I was going to stand the pain of being with you every day. I couldn't imagine why Charlie would do such a cruel thing to me. I thought that I had to protect myself because I was pretty sure wanting you so much and having you so close would be unbearable."

"And was it?"

"Yes, at times. But you were also an addiction, an unshakable addiction. I had committed emotional suicide once and sent you away. Even when I was trying to blame you for all my misery, I knew when I saw you in the bull pen that first day that I was powerless to ever again be without you in my life. You owned me." Suddenly, Will was struck anew by the pain that she had taken on accepting Charlie's invitation and coming back to him, to the monster who had treated her so callously, and to the man who had fathered her dead child. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak of it, he realized that this was absolutely the last subject they should be discussing before she went off to face Dantana and his lawyers. He walked to her and pulled her against his body. Kissing her forehead and then her lips, he whispered, "You look wonderful, Mrs. McAvoy. Now let's get you some breakfast and your medicine, so you and Rebecca can go ruin Jerry Dantana's day."

"Do you think he'll be there?"

"I think Rebecca will cry if he's not. And, yes, I suspect that our dear friend, Jerry, is the worst kind of client . . ."

"Which is?" Mac interrupted.

"The kind who thinks he's the smartest guy in the room and should be running the show." Mac nodded, reflecting on how rarely Will McAvoy thought that he was the smartest guy in the room and how he almost always was.

 

Rebecca didn't cry. As she and Will had predicted, Jerry was there when they arrived at his lawyer's office. He was sitting at the conference table, surrounded by papers, trying to look busy, and didn't rise as MacKenzie and Rebecca walked in, followed by his lawyer. Mac suddenly thought of her father recounting a particularly unpleasant exchange with a Soviet block diplomat, and observing to his teenaged daughter, that "only the truly insecure think that boorish behavior conveys power." So, as much as she would have liked to ignore him, she said hello to Dantana. Rebecca appraised Jerry with a smooth smile, and looked to Mac for all the world like a cat contemplating precisely how to go about disemboweling a mouse. The only other person in the conference room, the court reporter, a young woman in her early thirties, was clearly trying not to stare at MacKenzie McHale. Mac walked right up to her with a dazzling smile, introduced herself, and extending a hand, told the young woman to please speak up if "I start talking too fast, or the accent's a problem." Rebecca's smile broadened. Just as they'd discussed, Lady MacKenzie of Ailesbury was taking command of the room. 

Dantana's lawyer was a reasonably personable rather out-of-shape man in his late forties with thinning hair, named Michael Laurance. MacKenzie also took the initiative and introduced herself to Laurance. After Mac was seated to the right of the court reporter, who was set up at the head of the table, and Rebecca took the chair beside her, Laurance sat down on the opposite side of the table next to Dantana, who immediately leaned over an began whispering in his ear. From the look of slight irritation that crossed the lawyer's face before he schooled his features into an expression of bland interest, Rebecca assumed that Jerry had already begun dispensing unwanted advice. This was going to be fun. 

After the court reporter identified the date, time, place and the matter in which the deposition was being taken, and swore her to tell the truth, Laurance instructed MacKenzie in the basic rules of giving deposition testimony. She listened attentively to his every word even though she had covered the same territory with both Rebecca and Will (whom she was so used to thinking of as a news anchor, it sometimes surprised her to be reminded that she'd married a lawyer). When Laurance finished, he asked her to state her full name for the record.

"My birth name and my professional name is MacKenzie Morgan McHale. That is the name that most people use."

"Do you have an unprofessional name?" Laurance asked, clearly surprised by the answer. Yes, thought Rebecca, this is going to be fun.

"Unprofessional?" MacKenzie looked confused. "I'm not sure that I understand the question." Good girl, Rebecca thought.

Laurance laughed, a tad uncomfortably. "Yes, that probably was a bit confusing. Let me rephrase. Do you have another name besides your professional name?"

"Yes." There was a pause. But Mac said nothing further. Will had drilled it into her that where the question was susceptible to a one word answer, give a one word answer and stop. For most people, it was nearly an impossible thing to do.

"What is that name?" Laurance finally asked.

"MacKenzie McAvoy."

"Excuse me," Laurance blurted out, as Dantana began to whisper furiously into his ear. Mac could hear the surprised and she thought rather pleased "oh!" that escaped the court reporter's lips.

Mac just sat there. Laurance looked at her expectantly. Finally, Rebecca spoke. "I don't believe there is a question pending to the witness."

"I believe there is." Laurance said a little huffily, gesturing to the court reporter, who looked studiously at her laptop screen.

"No, sir," she said after a moment, "the last thing you said was 'excuse me.'"

Laurance recovered, and asked, "When did you begin using the name, MacKenzie McAvoy?" Out of the corner of her eye, Mac saw Jerry Dantana roll his heavenward. 

"When I married."

"When was that?"

"On December 28th of last year."

"And your husband's name is McAvoy?"

"Yes." We're all going to grow old here before we get to anything important, Rebecca thought, which suited her just fine.

"Could you state his full name for the record?"

"Yes. William Duncan McAvoy."

"What is his occupation?"

"He is the Managing Editor and Anchor of News Night with Will McAvoy."

"You are the Executive Producer of that program, are you not?"

"I am."

Laurance didn't seem to know what to do with this news, so he retreated into asking Mac about her education and employment history. There was another funny exchange when Mac said that she had left the Dalton School in New York at the age of thirteen and went to the UK to attend Cheltenham Ladies' College. Being unfamiliar with the educational preferences of the British monied classes, Laurance thought that she'd begun her higher education when most people enter high school. Mac explained that many of the older British secondary schools used the word College in their names, Eton College, for example. Rebecca never ceased to marvel at how Mac could say these things and never sound like a snob or seem like she was patronizing her listeners. They had made it through her time at Cambridge and then moved on to her employment history, with Laurance ignoring Dantana's pawing at his arm. After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to interrupt his counsel's questioning, Dantana spoke up and asked it they could take a break. It was rather irregular, and Laurance didn't look pleased. If for no other reason than to annoy her opposing counsel, Rebecca graciously agreed.

Rebecca and MacKenzie returned to the conference room at the end of the break ahead of Laurance and Dantana. When Mac smiled at the court reporter, the young woman, said shyly, "you and Will McAvoy are really married; that's so cool. He must be wonderful. He crawled to you through broken glass when you were shot." She sighed at the romance of it all. Mac just smiled and nodded.

Finally, Dantana and his lawyer returned to the room. Jerry looked grim and Laurance looked disturbed and unhappy. MacKenzie assumed that they were having a difference of opinion, but she was totally unprepared for what happened next. After reminding her that she remained under oath, Laurance asked, "Ms. McHale, have you ever been pregnant?"

Rebecca held up a hand to stop Mac from answering, but she needn't have bothered. MacKenzie had no intention of answering. She was simply staring at Laurance as if he'd opened his mouth and vomited on the table. There were small lines of disgust at the corners of her mouth, but otherwise her expression was one of mild, but controlled, surprise.

Rebecca spoke. "That may be the most invasive and objectionable question I have ever heard posed in a deposition in a commercial case in nearly twenty-five years of the practice of law." Her voice was deadly calm. When Laurance said nothing for a second, Dantana actually started to speak, but closed his mouth into a frown when his counsel, rather forcibly, Mac noticed, squeezed his forearm. Then Rebecca smiled slightly, looking even more feline than usual. "However, as it turns out, I was going to raise the subject of pregnancy myself." Both men looked stunned. 

"As you undoubtedly know, approximately two months ago, Ms McHale was injured in an assassination attempt. She sustained a bullet wound to the chest that pierced her right lung. While she is recovering satisfactorily from her injuries, her doctor has instructed that this deposition be conducted according to the following protocols." With that, Rebecca handed Laurance a list of requirements for frequent breaks and time limitations printed on Denise Barrington's letterhead. While he and his client were both studying the letter, Rebecca continued, "I would have mentioned this sooner, but we took our first break," here, she smiled more broadly and nodded in Jerry's direction, who looked up at her with a confused expression, "well before the time limit mandated by Dr. Barrington. The necessity that Ms. McHale," Rebecca flashed Mac a huge smile, "or perhaps, I should say, Mrs. McAvoy, monitor her oxygen levels and not unduly tire herself is made more critical by the fact that, as you can see from her doctor's letter, she is five months pregnant."

"Now?" Dantana blurted out, unable to contain himself. Since the answer was obvious, no one spoke.

"I assume," Rebecca resumed, pointedly directing herself to Laurance, "that you have no objection to complying with Dr. Barrington's requirements" It was purposely phrased as a non-question since a negative answer would mean the cessation of the deposition session and a trip to see the judge, who would order him to abide by MacKenzie's doctor's wishes.

"No, of course not." 

"Good." The smile vanished from Rebecca's face, as she continued to look Laurance squarely in the eye. "Now, I would like to state that any further attempted inquiry on the subject of pregnancy will result in my terminating the deposition session and seeking a protective order from the court." Dantana almost came out of his chair.

"You can't . . . We have a right . . . She . . . " he sputtered, as Laurance futilely attempted to get him to be quiet. Through it all, Rebecca never took her eyes off of her opposing counsel. Dantana, she thought, was indeed the client from hell. Will had certainly called that one.

"I understand," she continued smoothly, still ignoring Dantana, "that you are in possession of a statement by one Robert Hummel about events that you apparently believe have some relevance to your allegations against my clients, ACN and AWM. I am willing to propose a procedure for placing the issue of the relevance of those events before the court for an in camera review." 

"What's in camera mean?" Dantana asked Laurance in something between a whine and a stage whisper. As it had been explained to Mac, an in camera review meant that the proceedings would be held off of the public record and that other than the judge, no one who had not already seen Hummel's statement would have access to it. Laurance ignored his client's question.

Either because he recognized that he had no choice or because he truly felt that it was fair, Laurance nodded his head, and then, remembering that they were on the record and the court reporter could not record gestures, he replied audibly, "yes."

"What?! What are you doing?" Dantana exclaimed, rounding on Laurance. Oh, the joys of client control, Rebecca mused, reaching down to where the hand of her own spectacular client rested in MacKenzie's lap and giving it a squeeze. Mac's hands were like ice, but Rebecca noted, glancing at her face, she appeared calm and relaxed.

"Fine. Shall we go off the record so that we can discuss procedures, and then go back on to memorialize our agreement?" she asked, regretting that this would mean that Jerry's outbursts would no longer be recorded where she could use them against him with the judge.

"Agreed."

"We are off the record at 10:36 AM," the court reporter intoned, all business. Then, she conspiratorially caught Mac's eye, smiled broadly, and silently mouthed, "congratulations." MacKenzie nodded back shyly, her lips turing up in the smallest of smiles, and mouthed, "thank you."

Off the record, and despite frequent interruptions from Dantana, they worked out a format and schedule by which Dantana's counsel would go first, setting out exactly what questions he would ask MacKenzie about the events in Kabul and explaining their relevance to Dantana's allegations against ACN and AWM. Rebecca would file a brief setting out her clients' opposition and the grounds for her objections. Laurance would then be entitled to a short reply memorandum. Laurance thought that he had won that round because he got two briefs to Rebecca's one, but questioned whether it was worth having to make the initial and detailed disclosure of his questions and theories to which he had agreed. In reality, he had never been sure they could tie the stillbirth of a baby almost six years ago to his asshole client's doctoring of raw footage of an interview about an issue of national security. He was even less sure sitting across from the woman who had presumably delivered the dead baby alone in a hotel room, the woman who was now Will McAvoy's wife and appeared each of the two times he'd seen her to be a model of composure and self-possession. Jerry just looked grumpy. 

As they were wrapping up, Rebecca looked at Laurance, and if not reading his mind, at least assessing that he might be even more fed up with his client than she was, she decided to take a chance. "Mr. Laurance . . ."

"Mike," he interrupted.

"Mike," she began again, smiling slightly, "I know that I speak on behalf of Will McAvoy, who, as you may know, is also a licensed attorney, as well as myself, when I say that we both greatly appreciate the discretion that you exercised in refraining from detailing Mr. Hummel's statements in either your original or your amended complaints." She heard Mac's sharp intake of breath and knew that it had never occurred to her that the man across the table could have made the details of her baby's death a matter of public record. "Mr. McAvoy especially is well aware of the pain that such a disclosure would naturally cause his wife, as well as himself. These events, as I'm sure you can imagine, whether or not you are married or a parent, are extremely personal to Mr. and Mrs. McAvoy." Mac realized that Rebecca was subtly letting Laurance know that the baby who died in Kabul was also Will's child. "I imagine that the decision to plead generally rather than specifically was one that you reached after considerable deliberation and consultation with your client." The expression that appeared in Mike Laurance's eyes confirmed Rebecca's and Will's suspicions that he had gone very much against Jerry's wishes by not putting everything out there. 

"I think that you will find," Rebecca continued, "that it will prove to be an act of restraint and kindness that you will look back on in years to come as one of the better judgment calls of your career." Then she laughed heartily. "I can only speak for myself, of course, but I would certainly rather have Will McAvoy's appreciation than have someone of his intelligence, credentials or connections committed to my professional destruction." She paused, and for the first time, included Jerry Dantana within her gaze. There was absolute silence in the room, so Rebecca went on speaking. "Now, shall we call the reporter back in and put our schedule on the record?" she asked brightly. Mac saw Laurance swallow several times as he digested the import of Rebecca's statement about Will. Mac refused to look at Dantana. Still using the same light-hearted tone, Rebecca finished with, "Then I'd like to take another short break so that Ms. McHale can relax for a moment and check her oxygen saturation level before we get down to talking about Genoa."

 

Will scheduled a double session with Dr. Habib for the morning of MacKenzie's deposition. Since he knew he was going to go crazy, he figured that he might as well do it with professional help. Habib allowed him to spend the first 45 minutes on what the doctor first thought of as surface matters -- how Will felt like there should be more he could be doing to adequately protect MacKenzie from Dantana and Will's guilt at how he had failed to protect her the night of the shooting. However, as the doctor listened to Will, he realized that if the theory that he had re-read the other night in his father's notes were valid, or rather, to the degree that it was valid, the concept of "protection" was at the very heart of Will's quest to understand why he had reacted as he had to MacKenzie's disclosure, or attempted disclosure, of her short-lived reconciliation with Brenner. 

They had been talking a great deal about that morning since the night in Charlie's office when MacKenzie had referred to Will as behaving like a monster. ("Doesn't sound to me like she called you a monster," Habib had corrected Will. "From the way both you and she repeat what she said to Charlie, she said Billy left and a monster who hated her took his place. That's not who she thinks you are, that's what she observed you doing. There's a big difference.") Any conversation that involved MacKenzie and Brenner was always difficult, and Habib initially thought that Will had taken to calling Brenner, "the lovely Brian" in a British accent reminiscent of his mother-in-law's in order to distance himself from Brenner. But in response to Habib's question, Will had said that it was a conscious imitation, and volunteered that "Margaret despises him; always has." He didn't need to add what Jake had seen for himself at the wedding, which was that Lady McHale positively doted on Will. Fortified with his re-reading of Abe's observations, Jake saw Will's affectation that morning as an expression of identification with a mother figure who loved him. 

After they took a short break, Jake decided to do something that he rarely did since it had become such a psychiatric cliche, and ask Will to recall how he felt on the morning he left MacKenzie. 

"How the fuck do you think I felt?" Will blustered, "Mac ripped my fucking heart out."

"No, she didn't." Habib relied calmly.

Will could hardly believe his ears. It had been one of his standard lines for almost a decade and now it was being contradicted. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

"She didn't rip your heart out." If anyone's heart was ripped out that morning, it was was Mac's, Habib thought but didn't say. Will just stared at him. "As I understand the facts," Habib began when it seemed clear that Will could think of nothing to say, "she sat at the breakfast table, as in love with you then as she is today, and tried to disclose an event that to her was both temporally and emotionally distant," he held up a finger to stop Will from jumping in defensively, "one, however, that everyone concedes she didn't expect to please you, but something that she thought you would get pissed off about, she'd apologize for, you'd kiss and make up, and then she'd tell you that she'd conceived your child and wanted to spend the rest of her life raising a family and doing News Night with you."

"So I ask you again. When MacKenzie first started talking, what emotion did you feel?"

Will sat there for a long time lost in thought. Then, he said, "we made love." Not exactly an answer to the question, but Habib kept quiet. "In the morning . . . before. I hadn't remembered that." Suddenly, Will's face morphed onto a mask of horror. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" he breathed.

Habib leaned forward. "What? What did you recall, Will?"

"Her breasts. I knew. I knew. I think I knew. I'd have known when she had a period. Just like now. We were never apart that long. I think in the shower, I put it together. Suspected. And . . . " he scrubbed his hands repeatedly and violently over his face and through his hair.

"You think you suspected that MacKenzie was pregnant?"

"And when she mentioned Brian . . . I think . . . I think . . . I thought . . . "

The realization of where this was going hit Habib with such intensity that he spoke before he could stop himself. "No! God, no!" Will just looked at him. Will seemed frozen, his hands slightly in the air and his mouth partially open. Regaining control, Habib spoke again, "Will, in that first instant, before you had a thought, what did you feel? Will?"

"Fear," Will whispered. "I was afraid. Alone and terrified. The pain was coming." Will slowly lowered his head into his hands and began to cry. 

How could this have happened, Habib asked himself. How could things have gotten so incredibly fucked up? But he knew the answer. It was fucked up by the emotions of a little boy who had been raised by monsters. One who had intentionally inflicted pain and the other who had failed to protect him.

 

The deposition had covered the events in Pakistan and gotten through a fair amount of questioning about the investigation into the Genoa story when Rebecca decided that Mac was too tired to continue. She was wheezing slightly and her answers were getting longer and less crisp, both sure signs of fatigue. She had done brilliantly though. Laurance had gotten nothing really usable as far as Rebecca could tell, and Jerry had gotten bored and increasingly sulky as the day had progressed. Disappointed, Rebecca concluded, that MacKenzie had not been forced for his enjoyment to talk about bleeding out in a hotel room. God, Rebecca thought, surely there must be a deep circle in hell reserved for men like Jerry Dantana, men who would exploit the death of an infant for avarice. 

Rebecca and Mike decided that they would talk about scheduling the conclusion of Mac's deposition at some date in the future after the court ruled on whether she would have to answer questions about Kabul. Mac had done great with the questions she had been asked about her decisions regarding coverage of the riot in Pakistan. Only Rebecca knew the cost of that performance since she had called an immediate break and had made it to the women's restroom with MacKenzie before Mac had started to tremble and needed the inhaler. 

"How are you doing?" Rebecca asked Mac as they got into the cab to return to the studio. 

"Tired," Mac had said simply. Then, she smiled at Rebecca, "but I feel like I did well."

"Indeed, you did." Rebecca hugged her. "You were magnificent. I don't think the great Will McAvoy himself will be a better witness."

When they walked into the bull pen, Rebecca announced that one and all should bow down and "hail the conquering heroine," and Mac was surrounded by the staff anxious for news of how her testimony had gone. Rebecca did most of the talking, while MacKenzie was hugged in turn by Don, Sloan, Maggie, Jim, Kendra, Neal, Tess, Jennifer and almost everyone else who worked on News Night. Over Jim's shoulder, she saw the person she had been looking for standing there across the room, just watching her with the others the way she and Sloan used to catch him doing when she first returned to News Night. When the hugs were finished, Mac just stood there contemplating him. He was hers, her husband. As if reading her mind, Will smiled and started walking toward her. Unable to control herself, and violating her own rule against displays of affection in the newsroom, she ran to him and flung herself into his arms. He kissed her and then holding her tight, looked up at Rebecca, who smiled and nodded.

Mac slept through most of the prep and broadcast that evening on the sofa in Will's office, waking up just in time to stand beside Charlie in the bull pen and watch the last ten minutes of News Night on the monitors. The Boston Marathon bombing was still the big story on all of the news channels, and Will closed with an editorial critical of the Republican congressmen who were calling for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the surviving accused bomber, to be denied the Constitutional rights to which he was entitled as a naturalized American citizen. They were publicly urging the President to declare him "an enemy combatant" despite the fact that he had no ties to al Qaeda or Saddam Hussein, our only currently declared "enemies." Mac brought her hand up to her lips to still their trembling and her eyes shown with tears of pride, as Will ended his remarks with a quotation from one of her favorite plays, A Man For All Seasons: "'And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned around on you -- where would you hide . . . the laws all being flat? This country's planted thick with laws from coast to coast -- and if you cut them down . . . do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I'd give the Devil the benefit of law, for my own safety's sake.'" 

Charlie heard her gasp as an NYPD booking photograph of a disheveled and somewhat deranged looking man in his late fifties or early sixties appeared on the monitor beside Will. "This is Donald Cranston," Will began, his voice low and calm. "Mr. Cranston is accused of shooting MacKenzie McHale, David Hendrickson and Oscar Gutierrez last Valentine's Day outside the building from which I'm speaking to you now." Then Will's voice softened and thickened with emotion. "I do not believe that until someone you love is the victim of criminal violence, it is possible to understand how deeply the desire for vengeance is embedded in the human psyche. However, one of the purposes, if not the effect, of civilization and education is translating our desire for vengeance into a thirst for justice. We do this as a society through our system of laws and due process, a structure that we must never forsake, no matter how deep or how personal our anger or outrage is at the acts of which the defendant stands accused. Once we begin affording people the protections of our legal system according to our emotions, we, as Robert Bolt had St. Thomas Moore remind us, will all be at risk. I'm Will McAvoy. This has been News Night for April 22nd 2013. Thank you for watching us, and good-night."

"That's our man," Charlie said, giving MacKenzie a squeeze with the arm he had wrapped around her when Cranston's picture appeared, and planting a kiss in her hair the way Will liked to do.

 

Thanks to the nap, Mac was actually rested when she and Will got home. They ate leftovers in the kitchen after which Will gave her a breathing treatment and foot massage. She was down to two nebulizer treatments daily plus an inhaled steroid morning and night, and was beginning at last to feel like less of an invalid. It was a beautiful spring evening and they stood on the terrace enjoying the view of the city lights and hustle below them. 

Will was thinking about his session with Habib, when MacKenzie turned in his arms to face him and said, "put on some music and dance with me."

Unable to trust his own voice not to reveal the pain of his recollections, he fell back on an old habit and replied as the Nightbird, "well, listeners, it's MacKenzie from Midtown. What would you like to hear MacKenzie from Midtown?"

She smiled. "The Nightbird. I've missed the Nightbird, you know. You never do him anymore."

He remembered her telling him that the loss of her late night telephone calls with the Nightbird was the worst part of his relationship with Nina. Thinking of all the pain he had caused her, he clutched her closer, as if she might decide that he wasn't worth it after all and run away. 

"What's the matter, Billy?" she asked softly.

"I was just thinking about the Nightbird. I hid behind him, you know. When I couldn't stand the pain of just talking to you. Talking as me. Thinking about you sitting in your bed, unable to sleep, with your nightlight on, and fighting, fighting so hard against wanting to beg you to let me . . . ." His voice broke. "I think I don't do the Nightbird anymore because he's so tied into all that loneliness . . . ." He let the thought trail away.

"He didn't used to be," she replied. "I remember how he started."

"Hmm," he replied, resting his head against hers, which she correctly interpreted as a signal that he wanted her to keep talking.

"You had just bought that fancy new music system tied to your iPod and you were spending a fortune downloading music from iTunes and making Steve Jobs rich. You'd just gotten back from some out of town thing, what I seem to have forgotten, and you were jet lagged but your body clock was all screwed up and you couldn't sleep, so you decided that I shouldn't be sleeping either."

"Uh huh. Fair's fair."

"So you called me and asked me what I'd like you to play for me. I think we . . . you . . . played a couple of songs and then you started talking like a disc jockey, calling me MacKenzie from Midtown and referring to yourself as the Nightbird."

"Do you remember any of the songs we listened to?"

"Moondance. I remember Moondance." She screwed up her face in thought. "Your Song," she said after a while.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, even though they were the only people on the terrace, or in the apartment, for that matter. "Do you remember what else we did?" Holding her, he started to sway slightly.

"Something else?"

"Uh huh."

She looked at him questioningly. Then, her eyes started to widen with recollection. As she began to blush (honest to God, she could still blush even after all that they knew of each other) a huge grin spread across his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he intoned as the Nightbird, "I believe that MacKenzie from Midtown would like to offer an answer to our quiz question of the evening . . . ."

"We had phone sex," she mumbled against his shoulder, so softly he could hardly hear her.

"I'm afraid you'll have to speak up, MacKenzie from Midtown, or our listeners won't be able to understand your answer."

She raised her head, looked him in the eye and repeated in round ringing tones, like Eliza Doolittle talking about the rain in Spain, "we had phone sex." 

"Ding, ding, ding. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner." 

"Always, always with you, Billy." She laughed. "God, we were idiots! I loved you so much, Billy. I think that I started to realize how in love with you I was that night. And then, you called a cab and came over to my flat . . . ." He interrupted her by covering her mouth with his. After a few minutes, she pulled back, breathless. "Get your iPod and play Moondance for me." 

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance  
With the stars up above in your eyes  
A fantabulous night to make romance  
'Neath the cover of October skies

And all the leaves on the trees are fallin'  
To the sound of the breezes that blow  
An' I'm trying to please to the callin'  
Of your heart strings that play soft and low

They danced around the terrace to Van Morrison's honeyed voice. Will held her close, breathing in the last remnants of the perfume she had applied that morning before her deposition and feeling the still new and wonderful sensation of her pregnancy pressing against him. 

And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush  
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush  
Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?  
Can I just make some more romance with you, my love?

Then, she stopped dead in her tracks, her head down and her attention somewhere else completely. 

"Kenz! What? What is it? Are you okay?" She could hear the panic rising in his voice, but couldn't tear her consciousness away from the soft fluttering feeling inside her. Yes, there it was again. Unmistakable, this time. When she looked up at him, tears were streaming down her cheeks and dribbling over her smiling lips. "What?" he repeated, the smile rendering him more confused now than frightened.

"I . . . I felt her. I felt her move. Our daughter."

Will felt his throat close and tears spring into his own eyes. "Do you . . . do you want to . . ." He really had no idea what he was trying to ask. Sit down? Go in?

"Keep dancing. I want to keep dancing." 

And so he dried her tears and kept dancing, and when the song cycled around again, he sang,  
Well, I wanna make love to you tonight  
I can't wait 'til the morning has come  
And I know now the time is just right  
And straight in to my arms you will run

And when you come, my heart will be waiting  
To make sure that you're never alone  
There and then, all my dreams will come true, dear  
There and then, I will make you my own

And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside  
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide  
Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?  
Can I just make some more romance with you, my love?


	37. To Protect Those We Love

In the early Saturday morning light, Will McAvoy, sated and relaxed, watched his wife sleeping peacefully at last. The days and nights of the week after MacKenzie's deposition had been rocky. The nightmares had been almost constant, with more of the details of William's birth and her time with Danny coming back to her. Will attributed this to the reality slowly sinking in that but for Mike Laurance's tenuous control over Jerry Dantana, Hummel's description of finding Mac half naked, bleeding, unconscious and with William's body in her arms would be fodder for Page Six and the rest of the gossip rags. Several of the nightmares and one of her waking panic attacks had been so bad that Mac hadn't fought him when he'd insisted that she use oxygen and take an unscheduled bronchodilator treatment through the nebulizer. He found he preferred an argument. Mac being compliant in anything medical was a sure sign that she had been seriously frightened by her inability to breathe. Thank God that Charlie had taken to practicing her cartwheels multiple times a day, with movements that even Will could occasionally feel, and her heartbeat stayed strong. Those little flutters, kicks and green readouts eased Mac's anxiety like almost nothing else could. They continued to use sex as a way of calming themselves after the nightmares, which meant that Mac, and usually Will as well, was getting at least a few good hours of solid sleep a night. She had also seen Dr. Habib four times in the week since the deposition.

At his own sessions, Will had been too focused on Mac's stress, health and pain to return with Habib to his emotions on the morning he had cast her out, as Mac had described it at one of their joint sessions. Habib had told Will that Mac's current state was sort of a PTSD perfect storm, the fear of William's birth being publicly exposed by Dantana, coupled with reaching twenty-three weeks in her current pregnancy. At those words, Will had felt like a total imbecile. He'd been so focused for the last weeks on the fun parts of Mac's advancing pregnancy, the fabulous sex, her swelling belly and the maternity clothes. After their dancing had turned to lovemaking the night of the deposition, Mac told him that she thought she had been feeling the baby moving for weeks but hadn't been sure enough to say anything. They'd both just lain there grinning like children who had just formed a secret club. Somehow, until Habib said it, Will hadn't even had a thought about the fact that Mac had to be getting to the same place she had been when William was born. He felt like a sentry who had fallen asleep at his post.

And what had Mac been doing during those weeks leading up to the deposition, Habib had asked. They sat in silence for a long time while Will relived the days and nights in his mind before answering. "The same thing," he finally spoke.

"Exactly!" Jake replied. "Healing, eating well, sleeping soundly, popping out and letting everyone at ACN touch her belly and say hello to Charlie . . . Look how much her lung function improved during that time! So, you guys forgot about tragedy for a little while. That's good, not bad, Will."

But, still, how had he and Rebecca allowed MacKenzie's deposition to take place when she was around twenty-three weeks? Christ! At their last appointment with Dr. Barrington, had the doctor mentioned the number of weeks along Mac was the way she usually did? He couldn't remember. It didn't seem like she did. Finally, Habib got Will to relax a bit by saying that there was no reason to believe that it would have been better for Mac if the events had been separated. Both her fear of having Kabul written up in the tabloids and arriving at twenty-three weeks were potent PTSD triggers on their own, and neither could be avoided. Having them occur at different times might have meant MacKenzie having two bad spells instead of just one.

After the deposition, Mac told Danny that she was healed enough from the gunshot wound to talk with him about the things that she was trying to recall from her days in the military hospital in Kabul. Like most people subjected to a full frontal onslaught of McHale insistence, he caved after a few days. Will suggested that they have their conversation at Habib's office and to his surprise, Mac had readily agreed. Neither she nor Danny seemed inclined to talk much about it, and Will managed to curb his curiosity and didn't press them. Mac had simply said that it had been "really helpful." Afterward, Danny had asked Will if he thought that it was a good thing for Mac's therapist to be in love with her. "I don't know, Dan," he'd rejoined, "is it a good thing for her obstetrician to be in love with her?" To which, Shivitz had replied that he had noticed that Denise lacked a certain amount of professional objectivity where MacKenzie was concerned.

Rebecca's and Mac's descriptions of what a loose cannon Jerry Dantana appeared to be these days preyed constantly on Will's mind. He'd had a couple of conversations with Rebecca about whether there might be some way to defuse the situation before Dantana could escalate it, but concluded that there was nothing they could do unilaterally. Rebecca had suggested that they could issue a preemptive press release announcing their marriage, Mac's current pregnancy and say simply that they were particularly thrilled to be becoming parents because their first child had been stillborn six years ago. Will had hastily replied that Mac would never agree to knowingly put out misinformation or publicly deny William's life by calling him stillborn. Rebecca looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, and asked what the fuck he was talking about. Then he remembered that of course she didn't know! So, he'd told her how Mac had remembered the baby's birth after the Sandy Hook shooting broadcast, and how his son had lived for a few minutes and had been given his name. Rebecca had tearfully agreed that there were just some things that should never be made public, and they abandoned the press release idea in favor of fantasizing about how they could kill Jerry Dantana and get away with it. Then, when Will and Mac had gotten home, he'd confessed that he'd told Rebecca the truth about William. Mac was fine with that, only it led to a discussion of why he and Rebecca had been talking about the subject in the first place. When Mac heard that they'd been discussing a press release as an end run on Dantana's going public with Hummel's statement, she completely fell apart. 

Will found himself obsessing on the subject of whom he hated more, Jerry Dantana or Donald Cranston. He decided that Dantana was more culpable in his desire to hurt Mac because he had personal knowledge of the person he was damaging and he was doing it for money. Also, Cranston's ability to hurt Mac in the future was limited to the now remote possibility that something bad could happen to her or Charlotte as a result of the shooting, whereas Dantana would always be free to talk about what he'd learned from Hummel, or get Hummel himself to talk. Will's desire to kill or do bodily injury to Dantana had been the subject of a number of sessions with Habib, as well as conversations with Rebecca. He was no stranger to violence. Although he thought of himself as a pacifist, he had broken a liquor bottle over his father's head at the age of eleven. Not exactly Leave It To Beaver. But nothing, he suspected, compared to what he was capable of doing to protect MacKenzie and Charlotte.

Lying in bed contemplating the subject of protecting loved ones, he ran through two conversations he'd had the day before, one with Rebecca and the other with his niece, Harriet. Rebecca had called him late in the afternoon to relate that she had located and spoken to Robert Hummel and also to Mike Laurance. Hummel, she reported, was appalled at the use to which Dantana was putting his statement, and not inclined to testify in Dantana's lawsuit except under subpoena as a hostile witness. Hummel told her that Dantana had obtained the statement under false pretenses, a claim that Rebecca dismissed as "bullshit," although she did believe him when he said that Dantana had assured him that his name would never be revealed as the source. In any event, she concluded that Hummel was sorry he'd gotten mixed up with Jerry, and was, as she put it, "susceptible" to her suggestion that there was no upside for him in taking any action that would bring down upon him the "wrath of Will McAvoy and the collective power of Leona Lansing and AWM." She said that she called Laurance and asked him to voluntarily enter into a protective order under which all parties would refrain from revealing or discussing any evidence with anyone outside of the context of the litigation. While he had not agreed, he had said that he would recommend it to his client, and they had had what she called a "good conversation." She said that she thought that he understood that insofar as the Hummel statement provided them with any settlement leverage (and, God help him, Will had been thinking about how much he would pay to assure that Dantana kept his mouth shut for the rest of his sorry life) it would be destroyed by Jerry's leaking the contents to the media. Rebecca seemed to feel that at least at the present time, they were reasonably safe. It didn't feel like enough with Mac's sanity at stake, but he knew it was the best anyone could do.

Then, Harriet had called last night bubbling with excitement to tell him and Mac that she'd been accepted by Northwestern. She said that her official acceptance letter had been accompanied by an email from the Dean of the Journalism School saying that he'd received a glowing letter of recommendation for her from Leona Lansing. When Will expressed surprise, Harriet had explained that when they had all gone to Long Island after the wedding, she'd figured out that "Aunt Lee" got up early and had coffee every morning in the solarium, so she started getting up really early too and going downstairs. Not only had she been invited to join, but after a few mornings, Leona had told his niece to call her Aunt Lee. But the big shocker was that Harriet had gotten Leona to tell stories about her days in Vietnam and Cambodia, something that Leona never talked about as far as Will knew. Suddenly, a remark that Leona had made after he returned from his honeymoon made sense. She'd told him that Harriet McAvoy might be the most natural investigative journalist she'd ever met, and he needed to watch out or someday Harriet would have Charlie's job and he'd be working for her.

While Mac and Will just looked at each other in astonishment, Harriet recounted that she had asked Leona about the dangers of being a female reporter alone in a war zone, and Lee had told her that it had become a lot less dangerous after one of the other reporters who had been a Marine began to protect her and let it be known that he would "slit the throat" of anyone who laid a hand on her. "You know, the way she looked when she said that, I think Aunt Lee was in love with him," Harriet had confided. "From other stuff she said too, I think she lost him, but he was the love of her life. You know, Uncle Will, when she talked about some of the stories they covered together, it felt like how you described Mac as owning you when you toasted her at the reception, and said no matter where she was - Afghanistan, Iraq, Peshawar or Islamabad - she carried your heart with her. I think that's how Aunt Lee felt about that Marine." Mac had been speechless and Will had just said "uh huh," and refrained from telling Harriet that he was pretty sure she had danced with "that Marine" at the reception. 

 

Forty-five miles away in suburban Connecticut, Charlie Skinner lay awake on his side of a king-sized bed also thinking about protecting the people he loved. He had been working on a letter for a few weeks that was proving to be the hardest thing he had ever written. It had started on Valentine's Day while he was waiting for MacKenzie to get out of surgery. Restless, he had decided to stretch his legs by taking a walk, and had ended up alone in the lobby of the Beth Israel Medical Center just as Reese Lansing jumped from a cab and darted into the building. 

"Oh! Charlie!" Reese had exclaimed, clearly surprised to see anyone he knew. His emotions raw, Charlie's eyes filled with tears as he approached the younger man. "How is she?" Reese asked immediately, alarmed by the emotion on Charlie's face. "How's the kid?"

Charlie shook his head, "we don't know anything yet. They're both still in surgery."

"Will?" Charlie just clamped his lips together for a moment. "Yeah, I can imagine . . . ."

"Reese, son . . . " Charlie started to speak again. Reese's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He could not remember the last time Charlie Skinner had called him, son. It was a term of endearment usually reserved exclusively for Will McAvoy. "I . . . we . . . we all saw you . . . Will, your mother . . . you . . .well . . . ." Charlie swallowed and Reese waited for him to regain control. "I just want to say that I have never been prouder of anyone in my life than I was of you tonight." Charlie's eyes shown with unshed tears and his voice was deep and gravelly. His head shook slightly the way it did when he was emotional. 

Reese nodded, acknowledging the compliment, not sure he could trust his own voice with his eyes stinging with tears. He wanted to reach out and hug Charlie, but that wasn't their relationship. Their relationship, he thought, and suddenly, it occurred to Reese that Charlie was no longer young and a moment like this might not come again. "Charlie," he spoke, clearing his throat, "when I was sixteen and had that motorcycle accident on Nantucket, were you at the hospital?"

Charlie's face froze, but not before Reese could see a flash of something, terror or pain, in his eyes. "Uh . . . ah . . . no . . . no . . . I wasn't there," Charlie finally answered after a lengthy silence. Jesus, you're a terrible liar, Reese thought, but didn't say anything. Charlie knew he should just turn away, but he couldn't control himself, and spoke again, "why . . . why do you ask?"

"Because I woke up before anyone thinks I did, and I saw two people sitting in my room. They had fallen asleep watching over me. One was my mother and the other was a man who was holding her."

Sweet Jesus! Charlie gaped at Reese. "Ah . . . maybe you just imagined it," he finally forced himself to say. Reese shook his head in definite rejection of that possibility. "Are . . . are . . . are you sure it wasn't . . . ah . . . your father?" Charlie instantly regretted the question.

"No," Reese said softly. Then he laughed a bitter laugh. "Oh, you mean Arthur. No. Arthur was playing in a pro-am tournament on Hilton Head and couldn't disappoint his partner by pulling out and flying to New England. Yes, I'm quite sure he wasn't there." Charlie winced, both at his own stupidity since he already knew that and at the venom in Reese's voice. When Charlie said nothing, Reese continued, "Arthur Lansing. My grandfather's choice for her. Dumb as a brick, but with one hell of a golf swing. And so good looking. Tall and blond. Anyone can see that I'm a chip off that old genetic block." Reese's chocolate brown eyes bored holes in Charlie's matching ones. Charlie held his gaze until Reese laughed again. "You should have seen the expression on the face of my 9th grade biology teacher when I said that my father has blue eyes and my mother's are hazel. He finally recovered and mumbled that a person with hazel eyes could carry a brown eyed gene. Maybe that's true. Certainly, it wasn't done at Groton to openly question the parentage of one of the students."

Dear God! Charlie felt like his soul was being flayed alive. But his commitment to Lee was unwavering. Taking a deep breath, Charlie found his voice. "Son . . . Reese . . . we should get upstairs."

Reese Lansing didn't move a muscle. "Charlie, I promise I will never speak of this again, but I'm going to ask a favor of you. Will you write me a letter . . . give it to Will or Rebecca to keep until you're dead . . . 'til you're both dead . . . but please, just tell me what the fuck happened."

 

Mac had started dreaming again. Will watched her intently, thinking he would wake her if it looked like it was getting bad. But, while she mumbled a bit, this was clearly a dream, and not a nightmare. He pulled her against him and snuggled down to wait it out. About fifteen minutes later, she slowly opened her eyes. "Billy! Oh, Billy . . . ." She seemed surprised to see him, and slightly disoriented by his presence.

"Kenz." He kissed her hair and her temple. "You were dreaming, sweetheart."

"Yes, I remember . . . Oh! . . . Oh, wow!" She curled forward slightly and put her hand on her belly. "Here. Feel." She took his hand and placed it under hers. A smile formed on her lips as she said, "wait for it," the newsroom catch phrase for when Charlie Skinner was about to blow his top. A couple of seconds later, Will felt a strong push against his hand, just as Mac breathed, "there."

"She's getting stronger," he observed, smiling back at his wife, disheveled from sleep, and thinking that she was indeed the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in real life. "Maybe she'll play soccer, she's got quite a kick already." Putting his lips against MacKenzie's abdomen, he kissed her and then said, "good morning, Charlie. We're glad you're up, but give Mummy a break today and don't kick her too much, okay?" He'd started using the British pronunciation, "mummy," as a joke after a phone call with Nessa, but it caught on when Mac for all of her insistence on being American, hadn't stopped him.

"That's what I was dreaming about. Well, not soccer or Charlie, actually." Mac's face sobered. "I was talking to Habib yesterday about the flight to Kabul, and this morning I dreamed I was on it." She saw the worry lines begin to form around his eyes as he brought his head back up to hers. "It wasn't bad, though," she said hastily, bringing her hand up to stroke the side of his face. "I think it might have been that Charlie was kicking while I slept that made me have the dream." She smiled again, but this time a sadness lingered in her eyes. "William kicked and kicked the whole way from London to Kabul. I just remembered that again. I remembered it that night at my flat when I read the complaint . . . when you found me on the bathroom floor, but then I forgot it until yesterday. That's what I was dreaming . . . feeling him moving." Pain and guilt stole Will's breath. She had been alone. Alone and pregnant. Alone and running from New York. Getting out as he had commanded her to do. Out of his life. Out of his city. He buried his head against her, his hands still on the swell of her body that was their daughter. "Billy? Billy? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

What's wrong, he thought. I'm what's wrong. Again, he wondered how he had allowed hearing her speak Brenner's name to blind him to everything he had known to be true in his life . . . Blind him to her, who she was and what she had felt for him.

"Billy, stop. Please, stop. Come here." She struggled to get him to raise his chin so she could see his eyes. "I won't keep hurting you like this. I can't share William's existence with you if all it provokes is pain." Then, shaking her head angrily as her own emotions welled up, she choked out, ". . . and . . . I need to . . . " in a small voice.

And then he was covering her, his mouth on hers in a kiss of excruciating tenderness. He felt her body go pliant against him. How easily she surrendered, he thought. How easily she trusted again. He used his lips and hands to comfort and arouse. Mac felt herself start to float away . . . away from nightmares, hurts and worries, consumed by silky shimmering pleasure. He filled her. Filled all the places where her grief and pain found to hide and left no room for them. "I love you, Billy. I love you," she said over and over, "I've always loved you."

 

"Oh, my God! I don't have any blue jeans!" Mac's eyes were huge with horror. 

"What? What did you say?" Will looked at his wife still snuggled against him.

"I said that I don't have any blue jeans," Mac repeated as if the dire consequences of this statement were self-evident. 

"And . . ? " Will replied in his "okay, I'm an idiot, but please explain" voice.

"We're supposed to be meeting Sloan and Don for a late brunch and then we're all going to the Hamptons for tonight and tomorrow."

"So?"

"Billy! I don't have anything to wear! The only things that fit me are the business clothes we ordered."

"You have yoga pants. You have sweatpants. You had them on last night."

"I can't wear sweatpants to Cafe Mogador!"

"Well, certainly not if HRH is going to be there," he teased. She shot him a glance that would have made the unamused Victoria proud. 

"Come on. Get up. We have to stop at Pea in the Pod and get me some clothes." And that's how Will and Mac landed in Monday morning's edition of Page Six, not to mention on every early morning talk show from ACN to Kathy Lee and Hoda.

It started out pretty much like any other Monday. He was in the kitchen making coffee for himself and herbal tea for her when he heard her scream come from the bedroom. Although for a split second his heart stopped, it didn't sound like a scream of physical pain, but more like the screams she gave out when she realized that she'd forgotten something of vital importance. When he arrived in the bedroom he found her half dressed and pointing to the TV monitor. 

"What? Kenz, you scared me. What's the matter?"

The ACN morning show host was saying, ". . . So, once again here're the photos. McAvoy and McHale caught coming out of a maternity shop on Saturday morning . . . ." A slightly grainy image appeared on the screen. Mac, wearing jeans and a sweater, which a gust of wind had plastered against her, showing what was gleefully being described as a "baby bump." She was looking at Will, and smiling, while he carried two shopping bags bearing the store logo. God, he thought, Jackie O had only to worry about identifiable men with telephoto lenses, whereas now, the smartphone had turned every tourist from Des Moines into a photojournalist. "But look at this one folks," the host's supercilious voice came on again, reminding Will of how much he despised the guy, "it seems like MacKenzie MacHale is married to somebody, and if it's not Will McAvoy, her husband should be pretty worried right now." MacKenzie made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a growl, as an even grainier blow up of her left had filled the screen. "That sure looks like a wedding band to me, and what's got to be a five carat diamond on the ring finger of her left hand. So, what do you think, folks? Has Will McAvoy forgiven her for cheating and have they resumed and indeed, ramped up their relationship? After his crawl through broken glass to get to her when she was shot last Valentine's Day and now this, I'd say that's where the safe money is. And, it sure looks like there's a little McAvoy in their future. So, come on, Will and Mac, what's the story? Don't keep us in the dark."

MacKenzie looked like smoke was going to start pouring from her ears. He just couldn't help himself. Will burst out laughing.

By the time they got to ACN and Charlie's office, Mac had at least stopped openly fuming about the "colossal invasion" of her privacy, and Will privately was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't so bad after all. His only regret was that he hadn't gotten to tell Nina personally about his marriage and the baby. He had spoken to her after she had sent an email expressing her concern and outrage at Mac's having been shot, and they had had a friendly conversation. Sometime later, when he and Mac had been talking about the fact that after the deposition, they would have to make some sort of public announcement of their marriage and pregnancy, he'd said that before they did, he would like to do Nina the courtesy of letting her hear about it directly from him. Mac had said that while she certainly didn't feel that way about either Brian or Wade, she concurred that it would be an appropriate gesture for Nina. 

"Well, kids," Charlie had greeted them, smiling and holding up Page 6 when they walked through his door, "I see you did a little shopping on Saturday." Mac threw herself into one of Charlie's chairs looking sulky. 

"I hate this," she said flatly.

"You should have thought of that before you married this guy." Charlie gestured to Will.

"I did," she responded, as Will bent over and kissed the back of her neck. "But it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I've been thinking," Will said. "Every time Mac or I tell anyone about us or the baby, they have a totally positive response. Even the court reporter at your depo, right, Mac?" 

"Yes." Mac chuckled, "she was really cute."

"See. So let's pull out all the stops. Let's get everybody in the country on our side. Even a loser like Jerry's going to realize that there's no upside to trying to trash Mac while everybody's reveling in the fact that not only did she live through an attempt on her life, she was pregnant and now she's going to have the baby. I can't think of a better insurance policy to keep Kabul and William's birth under wraps."

"So, what are you proposing?" Mac asked, her eyes slitted in suspicion.

"That I close tonight's broadcast by declaring my undying love for you and our daughter." When she looked at him askance, he continued, "Don't worry, I'll do it in a way that will not compromise News Night's journalistic values."

And so, after covering the latest events in Syria, congressional gridlock and the negative effects of the sequestration program cuts, Will returned at the end of the broadcast to a subject that had been touched on in A block - gun control and gun ownership rights. He talked about the annual meeting of the National Rifle Association, and the election of its new President James Porter, a radical hard liner on gun rights, and the blatant ridiculousness of the NRA's new battle cry that President Obama is "seeking revenge on gun owners." After playing several video clips of Governor Rick Perry firing an assault rifle and asserting his opposition to any sort of gun control, Will looked directly into camera one.

"This is an issue about which I simply can no longer maintain journalistic neutrality. This," he said, gesturing to the image of an assault rifle on the monitor, "is a photograph, compliments of the New York Police Department, of a semi-automatic weapon that was taken out of the hands of Donald Cranston in front of the AWM building on February 14th of this year. Ballistics testing has confirmed that bullets fired from this gun ripped into the bodies of David Hendrickson, Oscar Gutierrez and . . . MacKenzie McHale, my Executive Producer, and the woman I love more than life itself. 

"Last Election Day, during a break in our coverage of the returns, I asked Ms. McHale to make me the happiest man on earth by consenting to become my wife. We were married on December 28th at Saint Thomas' Episcopal Church here in Manhattan. We did not make a public announcement of our marriage as a safety precaution because I have been receiving death threats ever since I apparently angered some viewers by questioning various positions espoused by Tea Party and other right-wing members of the Republican Party. I was concerned that if such threats were credible and it were known that MacKenzie is my wife, she would be in danger. Which brings me back to Valentine's Day. We had a very different plan for last Valentine's Day. We had expected after the broadcast to be hosting a party at our home for co-workers and close friends, at which we were intending to announce that in addition to News Night, Mac has been for the last few months, involved in another sort of executive production, that of our first . . . daughter. 

"Instead, I found myself spending that time in a hospital, waiting for a surgeon to tell me whether I had lost one or both of them, and wondering how on earth I would go on with anything remotely resembling a life if it had to be without MacKenzie. I was not alone. Each year, tens of thousands of Americans have some version of that experience, waiting to see if their wives, husbands, sons, daughters, sisters or brothers will die at the hands of one of their fellow citizens bearing arms. 

"I am one of the lucky ones." He flashed a boyish grin into the camera. "Last Saturday morning, as many of you know, I was on Madison Avenue with my wife buying maternity clothes." His face sobered. "But many among us are not so fortunate. Their lives are destroyed or at a minimum changed forever by gun violence. I consider myself a political and Constitutional law conservative, but I can not believe that the drafters of the Second Amendment intended it to foster the society of violence in which we live today, or seeing that this has come to pass, they would not take action to stop it. Someday, my daughter will undoubtedly learn that while she was curled up peacefully in her mother's womb, Mummy was gunned down on a New York street. I hope that when that day comes, I will also be able to tell her that we, as a society, rose up to say, 'no more; this madness must end, and we will end it here and now.' I'm Will McAvoy. This has been News Night. Stay tuned for Terry Smith and the Capital Report from Washington, and thank you for watching us."

"We're clear." Will let out the breath he'd been unaware he was holding. Then, very softly he heard her in is ear, "bloody hell, Billy. That was brilliant. Bloody fucking brilliant."


	38. Mother's Day

Everyone seemed to agree with MacKenzie's assessment of Will's announcement of their marriage and her pregnancy. It was indeed, bloody brilliant. Still sitting at the news desk, Will pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket and began to skim through the texts and voice messages he was receiving. The first to come in was a text from Nina Howard: "I see you lost the condom. No need to tell me I was right. Great remarks! Congrats and good wishes to you and MacKenzie." When Mac came out of the control room, he showed it to her. "You should call her," was all she said, but she was smiling. It seemed that within minutes of the end of the broadcast, Will and Mac had gotten texts or calls from everyone in possession of either of their phone numbers, from Joe Biden and Diane Sawyer to Tony and Ellie, David Hendrickson and his parents, as well as a number of Will's family -- his siblings, Rosemary, Karen, and James, and the nieces with whom he was closest, Beth and Harriet. Most of the well wishers knew about the marriage and more than a few also knew about the baby, and were texting or calling to express kudos at the manner in which Will made the public announcement. Mac wasn't shy about deflecting all of the praise his way by saying that while she knew he was planning something, she too heard it first as it went out live. 

Over the next few days, The News Night Facebook page, blog and Twitter account were overwhelmed with postings of a similar vein left by both the humble and the high and mighty. Ted, Margaret, Jules, Ness and Tommy all called to tell Will he'd done brilliantly. Michelle Obama tweeted congratulations to Will and best wishes for an easy pregnancy to Mac. A spokesman for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge conveyed their best wishes, saying that the Duke had many fond memories of childhood days spent with Mrs. McAvoy and her family when she was a little girl. "Oh, lovely," Mac had moaned as the "royal connection" spawned a flurry of interest by the gossip and "entertainment" blogs, channels and tabloids into her privileged background. People magazine did a short piece (short because Mac refused to be photographed or interviewed) on the McAvoy's marriage and nascent family. 

The ratings spike for News Night in particular and ACN in general that followed the announcement broadcast was referred to alternately on the 44th floor as "the Baby Bump" and "the Charlotte Effect," with several people taking credit for the coining of each phrase. MacKenzie McHale and Will McAvoy were now bigger celebrities than Will had ever been before. Mac was against doing anything she considered "pandering to the fickle whims of the public," but Will agreed with Reece that an opportunity like this could not be ignored completely. In addition, Will argued to MacKenzie in private that the positive publicity was further shoring up the bulwark of good feelings that would keep Jerry Dantana from thinking that he could gain anything from disclosing the events in Kabul. As much as she hated it, she knew he was right.

And so with her grudging blessing, Will entered the talk show circuit, appearing first as Jay Leno's guest on the Tonight Show. Leno did let Will open by talking about gun violence, but it was clear that Leno wanted to talk about MacKenzie. When Will said that she had been the President of the Cambridge Union and was probably the most brilliant woman he had ever met in his life, Leno rejoined with something about "as long as she doesn't try to send email." Will replied that "if I get into talking about that, I'll be spending the night on this couch," patting the empty seat beside him. Will felt that it was a rather lame deflection but he had been blindsided by the remark and made a mental note in the future to make sure that other hosts or interviewers knew that the subject of the email or Mac's cheating on him were off limits. But the audience laughed loudly and the moment passed. Leno then asked if Mac was having any strange pregnancy cravings, which allowed Will to talk about Mac's insistence that "cheesy toast" is superior to the "grilled cheese sandwich." That led to a discussion of Mac's British roots and staunch Americanism, a subject for which Will had prepared. Leno then asked about the message from "Will and Kate" and Will showed the picture "taken by my father-in-law" of MacKenzie, Princess Diana and little Prince William. Jay got to say to him, "you know, Will, not everybody's father-in-law snapped pictures of Princess Di," which gave Will the opportunity to say that Mac's family were really very down to earth "for people with a pedigree that goes back 500 years." Leno said that MacKenzie in the picture was adorable, which provided the show's most genuine moment when Will said, "I took one look at that little face and knew I wanted our baby to be a girl." Leno then asked him about News Night's mission and the interview ended with Will looking and sounding like a serious journalist. Even though Mac ground her teeth through a lot of it, she had to agree that all in all it wasn't too bad. 

MacKenzie, however, declined all offers to make any public appearances. She made one exception and accepted an invitation to speak at a dinner given by the Brady Campaign to End Gun Violence, where she would introduce Gabby Giffords. For the occasion, Will bought her a fabulous business-like but clingy designer maternity dress that he said "shows off Charlie very nicely" and Sloan claimed made her look like the sexiest pregnant woman alive. Mac insisted on wearing a pair of her spike heeled dress shoes, which she finally conceded by the end of the evening made her back ache fiercely. Maggie had done research on the number of pregnant women who are subjected to gun violence each year, much of it domestic, and Mac again showed that she possessed oratorical skills equal to those of her husband. Although she'd refined her remarks with him, she greatly surprised Will by deviating from her script and speaking about lying on the sidewalk waiting for the ambulance, fearing that her inability to breathe properly was depriving her baby of oxygen sufficient to either end the pregnancy or do irreparable damage to her child. Will knew he'd gone pale when Melissa Hendrickson reached over and squeezed his hand. When Gabby walked onto the stage and embraced MacKenzie, Will saw a number of the guests wiping away tears. 

 

The long postponed Valentine's Day party at Will and Mac's was finally rescheduled for May 12th, which just happened to be Mother's Day. Three days before, Mac had told Will that she had a Mother's Day request for him.

"Anything," he'd replied taking her into his arms. "Anything that's in my power to give you is yours."

He heard the slight wheeze of her inhale as she clutched him tightly. "I want to go back to the bank. I want to bring William home," she said softly.

He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her hair. God, he loved the smell of her hair. "Alright," he said delicately, wondering if it was a good idea. But the last thing he would do was refuse her this request. 

Several days before, the floodgates of MacKenzie's memories of Kabul had opened to Will. It had started on a Sunday a little after noon, while they were still in bed reading the New York Times. There was an article about Afghanistan that had a picture that included a shot of the Intercontinental Hotel. After identifying it for him, Mac stared at it for such a long time that Will was starting to worry when she turned to him abruptly and said, "you asked me once to take you back there with me. Do you want to go now?"

He held her and rocked her, cradled her and kissed away her tears and made her use her inhaler, but he didn't stop her. Not even when his throat and chest ached and his gut churned from his own suppressed emotions, and not even when she said that she wanted to listen to the voice messages that she had left for him while she was in labor. He let her take control and let her talk. 

She started with the dinner she had ordered from room service that had gone uneaten because of the ache in her back and because "I really wasn't able to eat anything anyway," and how she had crawled into bed because of the pain and actually fell asleep, "which was strange because I wasn't able to sleep much at that point, but I did then." She had placed the first call to him before she fell asleep. She told him how she had awakened and realized that she was having contractions, but still didn't "face up to" the reality of what was going on until about an hour later when her water broke. But it wasn't normal, there was blood in it. That was when she called him again, she said, and told him she was scared. "That was when I started to realize that I was going to lose him." She told Will that she had never felt pain like that in her life. "It seemed almost symbolic that my insides were being ripped out . . . everything had been ripped out of my life . . . my job was gone . . . you . . . you were gone . . . now, our baby . . . It was a tide that I just couldn't fight . . . and it was sweeping me away too."

They listened to the voice messages, and Mac described what she remembered of the birth. "When I called you that time, there was so much blood and it was red . . . just a gush with every contraction . . . . In the nightmares, I can still smell it sometimes." He held her tighter and remembered the distinct smell of blood on his clothes when she and David were shot. "I don't remember pushing . . . And I think I was passing out . . . Some of my memories seem disjointed because they are unconnected . . . or rather, connected by periods of unconsciousness. I remember pulling him up on my body and . . . then being aware of movement under my hands." Will couldn't help himself. He buried his face against her. She played with his hair, combing it with her fingers like the unruly head of a child. 

"I dream his cries more than remember them . . . but they're not made up . . . the dreams, I mean . . . I think . . . I can't yet . . . bring . . . myself to hear him . . . when I'm awake." She took a deeper, but wheezy, unsteady breath. "I wiped . . . him . . . his face . . . with . . . my shirt . . . your shirt . . . actually." He couldn't stop the moan and shudder that escaped his control. She kissed his hair the way he had hers on so many occasions. Then, she laughed quietly. "I loved . . . that shirt . . . . I was so pissed off when I woke up in that military hospital and Danny told me they'd cut it off of me and burned it. 

The words, "military hospital," reminded Will that he had not yet told her about his conversation a few weeks before with her father. Will had called Ted McHale to talk about Landstuhl. The call had not been a complete surprise. When MacKenzie's parents had watched the News Night broadcast in April that included Mac's disclosure about her missing spleen, they had realized what was happening as soon as they saw Will's face. So, Lord McHale had not been surprised to learn that Will had confronted Charlie who had confessed to lying to keep Will from going to Germany. Will had attributed Charlie's motives to his own bad behavior when Mac had told him about Brian since she was adamant that her parents should not be told about her pregnancy with William. Ted had sensed that there was something being withheld from that explanation, but he didn't challenge it. Will made his father-in-law tell him everything that he could recall about Mac's condition and the surgery. Will had then broken down apologizing for not being there, and between Will's guilt and the memory of Mackie's anguished cries for "Billy," it was all Ted could do not to join him. Ted had been adamant in telling Will not to be foolish and allow regrets about yesterday to rob him or Mackie of one second of happiness today. Advice, Will thought, that was more relevant than Ted could ever imagine. 

"I . . . tried to . . . nurse . . . " Mac's words brought Will back to the present. "I didn't think . . . I had . . . anything . . . but labor is supposed . . . to start it . . . so . . . but he . . . he couldn't. I had a bottle of water . . . The guys . . ." She smiled a weak smile of recollection. " . . . in Iraq . . . always said that I'll die with a bottle of water in my hand. So, I baptized . . . him. I'm not much of an advertisement for a C of E upbringing, but . . . I wanted . . . I wanted . . . " Tears welled up and spilled down her face. "I wanted him . . . to have . . . your name." Will raised his head and looked at her. She looked exhausted, he thought, and more beautiful than ever. "He looked like you. He had . . . your chin." She ran her finger along the dent in Will's chin, and he remembered Danny's story about her holding William's body in the hospital. As if reading his mind, she said, "I think I noticed that more after . . . when I saw his body, but I . . . remember . . . thinking it . . . b . . . before. He hated the water. That's when . . . he cried." Will gathered her to him and rocked her while she cried harder. 

"I remember being so weak and trying to move. I don't remember how I got onto the floor . . . just that I was . . . And that the pain was even worse . . . then after he was born . . . it stopped some . . . But the blood kept coming . . . He . . . he . . . stopped breathing . . . I knew that I was dying . . . I was frightened . . . afraid to die . . . And I needed . . . I needed . . . to hear your voice." 

She was caught in her memories. Will could see that, and he hoped that she had no concept that her words were breaking him up inside. She had been dying and he was half a world away. Dear God, the thing she needed to have the courage to die was to hear his voice on a fucking answering machine. It was all she had because he'd denied her any form of human contact. Denied it because he wanted her to suffer. He thought of her screaming in her nightmares reliving the pain and terror of her own death. Birth and death. He gave voice to a fear that he didn't even know he was harboring, "I don't know if I'm going to be able to stand to watch you in that kind of pain when Charlie is born."

Cupping his face, she tried to smile at him, thinking that he looked so distraught. "Billy, when I was in Kabul, I couldn't even imagine the possibility of ever having the happiness I have now. The pain I was in there was so much worse because it was coupled with complete and total despair. There wasn't going to be a family at the end of it. There was . . . only . . . ". She struggled for the composure to continue and the words to make him understand. ". . . emptiness . . . loss . . . I had nothing left of us . . . of you. Having this baby . . . " both of their gazes fell to her belly where Will had put his hands as she spoke, "is part of the life we are building together. We are making a family that will last. Be ours. You've seen Ness with Teddy and Tessa. How much pain would she gladly suffer for them . . . to have them in her life?" She paused and he realized she intended him to answer.

He thought about his sister-in-law and her children. "I imagine whatever was required that didn't kill her. I imagine she'd walk over hot coals barefoot."

"I imagine she would," MacKenzie said, smiling at him. "Or crawl through broken glass. Or go through labor." He wiped the tears from her face with the edge of the sheet. "And this time, I'll have you with me, Billy."

"Yes, you will."

"I was so scared and wanted you so . . . That's why I kept calling."

"I know. I'm sorry, Kenz. If I could do it all again . . . " He was overwhelmed by regret. "How can you not hate me? How can you not hate the monster who left you lying on the floor, who wouldn't listen to you, who told you to get out, and wouldn't answer your messages?" He fought to keep himself under control.

"I suppose for the same reason that you don't hate me for never telling you I was pregnant, or for not telling Charlie, or for not eating and sleeping or taking proper care of your son."

Will thought of Ted's words and Charlie's telling him to stop being the victim and seize happiness with MacKenzie. "I could never hate you," he said putting his lips close to her ear and trying to adopt a joking tone, "and believe me, I tried for years." The attempt at levity backfired as a wave of guilt and anguish swamped him. He took a shuddering breath. "Kenz, I will never be able to thank you enough for coming back to me, for saving me, saving my life." He held her tighter as if she would slip away if he let go. "When I think about my life without you, it terrifies me. When I saw you lying on that side walk and the blood on your coat I couldn't think or breathe. I don't think I could go on living if . . . ."

She pulled away slightly and looked at him. "You know," she said seriously, "very soon, you will no longer have the option of stopping living if something happens to me. Just like I don't have the option now, if something happened to you." When he only looked confused, she continued. "If . . . If something happened to you . . . God, if Tony hadn't called you back for an autograph . . ." She shivered at the thought, "my first responsibility would be to Charlie . . . to keep her safe and healthy, and bring the part of you that's in her into the world. And once she's separate from me and able to live without me, then the same will be true for you. If anything happens to me, your job will be to live and care for her, protect her and raise her."

Will nodded, unwilling to trust has voice, and as the sun disappeared behind the Manhattan skyline, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. She yielded against him, as he added passion to the kiss, teasing her mouth open with his tongue.

"I'd say take me to bed, Billy, but we seem already to be here." She stroked his thigh and then slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers. Her breath hitched with the excitement of touching him. His skin was so soft and silky, below the little trail of hair, and she felt like her fingers were capable of performing magic as he leapt, moaned and expanded under her touch. "In Kabul, I never thought," she murmured, "I'd ever touch you again. Or feel you touching me." She kissed her way down his torso. "I've missed you, Billy. I missed you so much for so long." Then there were no more words between them, as they comforted each other and gave each other peace in the way no one else could, no one else ever could. 

And so, on the Friday before Mother's Day, Will led his now obviously pregnant wife into the Chase branch where she kept her safe deposit box, while Lonny circled the block. They unlocked the box and removed the small package that contained the ashes of their infant son. Although Will was worried, Mac seemed calm. She handed it to him and asked him to open it. She touched the small tallit, running her fingers over the embroidered Hebrew blessing. 

"Danny's grandfather gave this to him," she said, " do you think . . . I should offer to return it?"

Will looked horrified. "I think you'd break his heart. It was a gift to you and William from someone who loved you . . . loves you selflessly." Mac nodded, reflecting again on the depth of the relationship Will and Dan Shivitz had forged in the crucible of the shooting and the shared knowledge of their unique roles in Mac's life. She opened her bag, and after wrapping the paper back around the box and tallit, Will placed them inside. Will held MacKenzie for a moment while she composed herself and they left the bank. If Lonny wondered why they clung to each other so tightly or were so quiet on the drive to the studio, he didn't let on. 

 

Loraine and Lonny arrived around noon on the day of the party. Loraine had become Leona Lansing's go to caterer and was overwhelmed with requests to cater meals and events from others in Leona's social circle. Will teased her about "slumming it" to do a party for a country "hick" like himself. She told him she was making an exception for him only because he'd "married above his station." While the four of them were setting up, Lonny said with uncharacteristic shyness that there was something he'd like to discuss with all of them. Leona had asked him to take the position of Assistant Vice President for Security at AWM, with the idea that he would take over when Blake Johnson, the current VP, retired in a few years. Mac, Will and Loraine all thought that accepting the offer was a "no brainier," as Loraine put it, but Lonny was hesitant since it would mean no longer protecting Will and Mac. He just didn't trust anyone else to do it, he said, which Mac suspected had to do with guilt over failing to take the bullet for her on Valentine's Day. 

Will ferreted out that Lonny was also afraid he'd miss their daily contact. "So, we'll all start having lunch together in the Executive Dining room instead of talking in the car," Will had countered, "and besides, the death threats have really ended since Mac took one for the team, so very shortly the insurance carrier's going to want to stop paying your agency, anyway." Lonny produced a copy of his employment contract and Will reviewed his non-compete clause and determined that it would preclude Lonny from being hired by Will as his private bodyguard, but didn't cover the situation of Leona hiring him as a security executive at Atlantis World Media. Loraine just about fell to the floor when she heard the salary that Leona was offering, and told Lonny she'd call his mother to talk sense into him unless he told Leona that he was taking the job as soon as she walked through the door that evening. 

By late afternoon, the party was in full swing. "Rudy" was playing on a continuous loop in the office den, and Will and Mac re-enacted the "Rudy hug," to applause and cheers that turned to laughs when Will adopted a confused expression and said, "I don't know what it is, but she felt different the last time we did this." Several people brought Mac a Mother's Day present, including a specially made onesie from Jim that said, "My Daddy Cries at Rudy." Leona and Loraine immediately began conspiring over plans for a surprise baby shower. Lonny's new position at AWM was announced to another round of hearty applause. People ate and drank and started calling for Jim and Will to get their guitars. They played requests for a while and then made a game of playing and singing songs shouted out by the guests with the word, baby, either in the title or featured prominently in the lyrics. By the time, the guests began to depart shortly before midnight, Mac was curled up asleep in one of the overstuffed chairs she had added to the living room furniture, with Maggie standing guard and telling people not to wake her. 

MacKenzie did wake up and stood leaning on Will at the door as they hugged and said goodnight to their friends. Tomorrow's show is going to be a nightmare, Mac thought, looking at the number of bleary eyes that were going out the door. The apartment looked like a disaster area, but as Loraine and Lonny departed, she assured Mac and Will that her crew would be in just as soon as they left for the studio in the morning and the place would be back to normal by the time they got home. 

They closed the door and Will scooped MacKenzie up into his arms. "First year privilege," he reminded her when she protested. He reveled in the fact that she actually felt substantial in his arms. She had gained back the weight she lost after the shooting and put on some more with Charlie. He'd laughed out loud when she'd half moaned, half shouted, "128.4! I'm so fat!" from the bathroom, a few weeks back. He deposited her on the bed and started removing her ballet flats and jeans, and handed her the inhaler with her nighttime medication. He exchanged the button-down shirt (his) and support tank that she had been wearing for her favorite Cornhuskers t-shirt (also his) and tucked her into bed. Then he quickly stripped to his boxers and snuggled in beside her. 

"Sleep," he said when she started to reach for the portion of his anatomy that was guaranteed to keep them otherwise occupied, and teased away her pout with jokes about second trimester insatiability. 

"Better enjoy it while you can, Billy boy, 'cause I hear that I'll be wanting you to sleep in the den in a month or so."

"I'll take my chances," he said chuckling and kissing her hair as she moved her body into her favorite sleeping position with her head resting on his shoulder. "You're tired. You fell asleep out there with a roomful of loud drunk people around you."

"I love you, Billy, she murmured sleepily, "I love our life."

"Yes, indeed," he said, and thought that despite all they had been through, or maybe because of it all, he really savored the fact that this was indeed the life he had always wanted.


	39. Disclosures

Mac was determined to stay in shape, or at least be as fit as possible considering her new shape. So, she was religiously doing yoga and working out in the AWM gym. It was one morning in early June when only she and Jim were there that little Charlie, inspired no doubt by her mother's calisthenics, pushed herself up against the adhesions left from the knife wound and the surgeries Mac had undergone in its aftermath. Although Denise and Danny had both told her that this day would likely arrive, and despite the fact that she had suffered some discomfort from the adhesions in the past, she was totally unprepared for the pain that sliced through her. It took her down, literally as well as figuratively. She dropped the five pound weight with which she had been doing resistance exercises with her still slightly compromised right arm and collapsed to the mat on her hands and knees.

"My God, Mac!" Jim screamed as he jumped off the ab machine, raced over and dropped to her side. "What's the matter?" She could see abject terror in his eyes. Terror that she hadn't seen since he'd reached her on the street in Islamabad just as she foolishly pulled the knife from her stomach. "Is it the baby? Do you want Will?" She shook her head violently in response to each question. 

"It's . . . okay . . . really. It's Charlie . . .push . . . pushing against . . . adhesions . . . from the . . . knife wound."

"Christ, Mac." She could see that Jim was still shaking. 

The pain was abating somewhat now and Mac thought about trying to lie down, but stayed for the moment where she was. "I was expecting . . . this to start," she said slowly. She could hear herself wheezing a little as she exhaled, but since she'd already had a puff of albuterol before starting to exercise, she decided to ignore it. "They can go in and break . . . Ouch . . . them up . . . before . . . if you know you're trying to get pregnant. Otherwise, it's like . . . Oh . . . this. The baby pushes them . . . apart." She slowly lowered herself down and rolled onto her left side, where she could look up at Jim, who was still kneeling beside her with an expression on his face that would have been appropriate if he were holding a hand grenade that was about to go off. She gave him what she thought was a passable smile. "But the good news is . . . once they are stretched and separated, they don't go back . . . Um, that was a good one . . . so everybody tells me, I won't have this again with a second pregnancy . . . ."

"A second pregnancy!" Jim's eyes bugged out. "You'd do this again! Are you fucking kidding me! Mac, are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Obviously." She gave him what might have been the happiest grin he'd ever seen on her face. She looked beautiful and glowing. Then chuckling softly, she shook her head faintly in wonderment and caressed the baby in her belly. She thought about how much she had hated in the years after William's death, seeing pregnant women, especially celebrities, hold or stroke their "baby bumps" (she still loathed the phrase even as it sprang into her head). It had seemed forced and showy to her, but she realized that it was actually second nature, and she probably couldn't stop doing it even if she put her mind to it. She could cut down on the number of times a day she gave Charlie a pat or rub, maybe, but not stop. She must have touched William that way too, she mused. She let the pain that thought provoked roll over her like a wave the way Dr. Habib recommended and then released it. 

Jim was watching her off somewhere far away with a slight smile on her face, and thought of the tragic, profoundly heartbroken woman he'd first met in Iraq, and of the woman he'd watched hiding so many rejections and tears during their first two and a half years at ACN. Sometimes it still made him angry that Will carried Mac's happiness in his hands, but then he was starting to see that the reverse was also true. But then, he'd never seen Mac torture Will for the express purpose of making him suffer. Not even with Wade, really. 

"Why would you want to do this again?"

She opened her eyes and laughed. "Well, I'd change a few things . . . You know, lose the gunshot wound next time around. I don't know, Jim, I think I'd like to have two children, have Charlie grow up with a sibling . . . you did, I did . . . and . . . I'd like to try for a boy . . . Give Will a son . . . another son . . . ." She said the last part so softly, he wasn't sure if he'd heard her right. 

"But he tells everyone he's always wanted a girl."

"I know. And I think he's genuinely thrilled to be getting a daughter. But, I also think that at least in the beginning, he hoped for a girl because he thought that a baby girl would be less of a PTSD trigger for me than another boy." He definitely heard her this time. "I started to take a bad turn holding Teddy when they were here. Will saw it and came up and held me and helped me stop it." She looked at him intently. "Much like you used to do," she added softly. She couldn't recall when it first occurred to her that Jim Harper had taken to getting up and standing or sitting next to her when she started to go away, go back to Kabul or New York in that way that would start the shaking, racing heartbeat and breathlessness. She could move very slightly and they would be touching, his body giving her strength, saying someone noticed, someone cares. She reached up and touched his cheek. "There would be no Charlotte McAvoy without you, Jim, because I don't think I'd have come back alive without you, and I'm not talking about Islamabad."

Shyly, Jim asked, "you knew the baby you miscarried was a boy?" Surely, Will had told her about the conversation in which he'd told Will that he had figured out from her nightmares that she lost a baby. She nodded, and then Charlie moved again and took her attention away. "You didn't plan this, did you?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice once again.

She looked at him quizzically, "the adhesions?"

"No. Obviously, not the adhesions." Mac smiled. Sometimes Jim could be so serious, she thought. "To get pregnant," he continued.

"Well, planning was not exactly a concept either Will or I were working with much last November, if you recall. But we knowingly allowed it to happen, if that's what you mean." When he gaped at her silently, she continued. "I hadn't been taking the pill for over a year before Election Day. Or been with anyone. Not since the whole ugly business with Wade convinced me that it was going to take a bit more than a stiff upper lip and a talent for hiding my feelings to make a life for myself that wasn't all about Will. So when he proposed and we went home together to my place, there wasn't any sort of birth control available. Then the next morning we talked and he didn't want me to take a Plan B pill, and after that we just didn't worry about it. Well, he didn't worry about it."

"You worried about getting pregnant?" Jim asked gently.

"Oh, fuck!" She panted as another painful stretching feeling rolled through her diaphragm. "Not the way you're thinking. When we talked about the Plan B pill, I realized that he was hiding how much he wanted a child and that got me worrying that Danny's fix might not have worked and I'd disappoint him. I wouldn't be able . . . ."

"But they said in Landstuhl that the knife missed everything down . . . " Jim gestured in embarrassment, "you know . . . ." Then what she'd said registered and he asked, "who's Danny?"

She realized that he was still half kneeling, half squatting, and patted the mat beside her, "Sit down. As they say, we need to talk. I need to tell you about what happened in Kabul." He stood up and walked over to where she had dropped her water bottle, towel and inhaler, and then to where his towel and water had been left. Gathering everything, he brought them back to the mat and sat down. She took a sip of the water he offered, and wiped her face with the towel and then draped it around her shoulders. When it was clear that sitting up wasn't comfortable she returned to the reclining position on her left side, and stuffed her towel under her head, so she could look at Jim. "Danny is Dan Shivitz," she began.

"The guy from Beth Israel? When did he fix you up?"

"In Kabul."

"You're shitting me! You knew him from Kabul?"

And so, she began at the beginning, and told him how six years before, she and Will had gotten sloppy with birth control and she'd gotten pregnant, but that it was fine because Will was talking marriage and she knew that a family with him was what she wanted. The only rub was that she felt that she had to disclose her "reconciliation with Brian" which she'd been hiding from Will for more than a year at that point. "He didn't take it well," she said in what Jim knew had to be the understatement of the century. "He didn't want to listen to any explanation, he just said he never wanted to see me again, so we broke up before I could tell him I was pregnant." She explained how after three months of hanging around New York, unemployed and "pretty distraught," sending Will daily texts, email and voice messages trying to get him to talk to her, she asked Charlie to help her leave New York. He got her a gig producing a segment ACN was doing on US soldiers in Afghanistan. 

"He sent you to Afghanistan pregnant?" Jim asked in indignant disbelief.

"God, you sound just like Will. What is it with men? I wasn't incapacitated, I was pregnant. But, no, he didn't. I didn't tell him."

"Holy shit! Does he know that now?"

"Yes."

"He must have busted a gut when he found out."

"More or less." She didn't mention that she had somewhat deflected the gut busting business by having a full scale PTSD meltdown in his office. Now came the difficult part. "I know I should have told Charlie. A lot of things might . . . would have been different if I had." She sounded so sad that Jim reached over and took her hand. "Actually, I was pretty far along when I went over, around 23 weeks." She could see that this revelation didn't mean much to Jim. Best to just spit it out, she thought. "On the second or third night at the Kabul Intercontinental, I went into pre-term labor. The baby was born around mid-morning. A little boy. He was born alive but extremely premature and he didn't live very long. Only minutes. I named him for Will." She took a breath, and Jim glimpsed for a second how tenuous was her hold on control. "So, for a few minutes, I . . . we had a son. His name was William Duncan." 

"Oh, God, Mac. Oh, my God." Jim's face was a mask of compassion. "And Dan Shivitz was the doctor who delivered him?"

She was so tempted to lie that the word, yes, was on the tip of her tongue when she bit it back. "Not exactly," she said instead. "He wasn't actually delivered by a doctor. He came . . . We were . . . I was in the hotel room when he was born . . . ."

"Mac, who was there? Who was with you?"

"Nobody, actually." 

"Mac! Jesus, Mac . . . ." Jim's voice went from indignant to quietly horrified as the reality of what she was saying sunk in. "You were alone," he whispered, "you had a baby alone."

"Well, he wasn't a big baby . . . Please, Charlie," she spoke to her belly, "give it a rest, will you?" She looked back at Jim, and tried for levity. "We're not talking eight pounds of baby. More like less than two, probably a lot less."

"Still," he said.

"Anyway, things didn't go well. The placenta pulled away and tore the wall of my uterus or something like that so when they got me to the hospital, I was in bad shape. That's when Danny fixed me up. The other doctors wanted to do a hysterectomy . . . ". She saw Jim blanch at the word and felt him squeeze her hand more tightly. ". . . but Danny wanted to try to save my ability to have children. Make me functional again." She rolled onto her back and placed a hand on each side of her unbelievably large belly, and smiled up at Jim. "And, as you can see, he did! But I didn't know that he'd been successful for sure until I got pregnant with Charlie. Which," she said squeezing his arm, "I think, is where this conversation began." Jim just nodded. "Oh, shit, look at the time! We need to get back to the studio. I'm surprised that Will hasn't come looking for us for the pitch meeting. Help me up, please, will you? Oh, that reminds me, when you see Will, don't mention a thing about the adhesions, okay?"

"Okay," Jim agreed, thinking that once again there was Mac protecting Will.

 

It was a couple of hours after the afternoon rundown meeting when Jim walked into Will's office. "Got a minute?" Jim asked quietly. He'd been thinking about what Mac had said about Kabul, Dantana's allegations and his own experiences with her in Iraq and Pakistan, and something wasn't adding up.

"Sure. Grab a seat."

Jim took a deep breath. "Mac told me about Kabul this morning. The baby. Your son."

"Oh." Will looked surprised. 

"I'm sorry. It's tough. I mean I sort of knew and she sort of knew I knew. But, it was weird. She was really calm. But . . . all the nightmares . . . years of them . . . that's what they were about, right?"

"Yes."

"But she acted like it was no big deal." Jim shook his head.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know . . . I guess, I'm trying to ask if she's okay."

Will nodded. "Yes, basically I think she's okay. The nightmares are a result of her suppressing a lot of her memory of the birth, which she needed to do to stay sane and survive. She sees a therapist but she still has nightmares. After the deposition, they were pretty constant for a while. Sometimes they are just bad dreams and sometimes she can't breathe and won't wake up and and they scare the shit out of me."

"The deposition . . . Yeah . . . How the hell did Dantana know anything at all about Kabul?"

"The guy who was the manager of the Intercontinental in Kabul was one of the people who found her and he's now working at some hotel in Washington and knows Dantana," Will replied, deciding that there was nothing to be gained by telling Jim about Reece's role in the story. "Pretty fucking amazing as coincidences go."

"What do you mean, found her?" 

"Oh, you really did get the super-sanitized version of the story. She didn't tell you, I take it, that she basically bled out in the hotel room and that the maid came to make up the room and let herself in when there was no answer. She found Mac unconscious and near death."

"No," Jim breathed softly. "Christ, Will."

"I'm not the only one she protects, you know." Jim swallowed and nodded. "The maid called the manager who called a military ambulance and got her to the hospital. Dantana got a signed statement from the manager, a guy named Robert Hummel. Dan Shivitz was the doctor at the hospital who took care of her."

"Yeah, she told me that part. Small world, uh? Will," Jim asked as he got up to leave, "why does Dantana claim that she tried to kill herself in Kabul?"

Will closed his eyes and sat in silence for so long Jim thought that he wasn't going to answer. "Because she never tried to get help," Will finally answered. "She hemorrhaged when the baby . . . was born, but she was . . . so . . . so devastated . . . bereft . . . that she lacked the strength to try to save herself. She just closed her eyes and waited for the pain to stop. At least that's how she explained it to me."

"What? What do you mean? She was alone and hurting, bleeding, and she never tried to call for help?" As it rose, Jim's voice took on a tone that Will recognized, one that conveyed that Mac's lack of desire to live was a direct consequence of Will's actions toward her. "There was no one on the whole fucking planet she reached out to? No one she wanted? No one she called?"

"Me," Will said flatly, looking unflinchingly into Jim's furious eyes. "Me," Will repeated more loudly. "She called me. Repeatedly. I didn't answer. I didn't pick up the phone."

"Jesus Christ!" Jim bellowed, standing up and moving toward Will's chair. Then, lowering his voice lest Mac hear him, he bent over and put his face in Will's, his hands clenched into fists. "How the fuck," he hissed, "how the fuck do you live with yourself? Don't you ever . . . don't you ever fucking hurt her again. I'd kill you for what you've done to her if she didn't love you so much." Will just sat quietly until the white heat of the younger man's rage dissipated, and Jim collapsed back into his chair with his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, remembering that this was his boss he was talking to, but clearly still angry.

"Don't be," Will said with a calm he didn't feel. "I deserve it. I'd probably kill myself for what I've done to her if she didn't love me so much. I will never hurt her again. You know that, Jim. You can count on that."

"I know. I know that. You make her happy. She's brave, and she can throw herself into the moment, but I realized after Election Day, after the engagement, that I'd never seen her really happy before. In all the years I'd known her, she'd never been content like she is now. And I know that you didn't know what was going on when you didn't take her calls. You didn't know about the baby or that she was alone in a hotel room bleeding."

"No, I didn't. I'm not sure that's much of an excuse, but I didn't know."

Jim nodded, his rage and anger now largely spent. He liked Will, just as Mac had predicted he would, and he knew that Will loved her, had loved her even back then. More, he knew that Will's love and presence in her life were necessary for her. He smiled slightly at the memory of the grin on Mac's face when she'd told him she was "obviously" insane to be going through a pregnancy and contemplating another. That was a MacKenzie that as far as Jim knew only existed in conjunction with Will McAvoy. 

"She was so broken when she got to Iraq, Will. Broken in every way. Physically frail and emotionally brittle, with a vacant, I don't know, place, I guess, behind her eyes. You can't imagine."

But he could, he thought. He had watched the toll that reliving it with him had taken on her, the pain and exhaustion clearly evident on her face. And the nightmares. He had watched her caught in the emotion of it when there was no filter of consciousness to remind her that she was not in fact alone, in agony, bleeding out and helplessly watching her newborn son struggle for his last breaths. Had she seen William die, or had she been unconscious? She had never said and he certainly wasn't going to ask. Yes, he thought he could imagine the woman Jim had met. But then, he wondered, what would it have been like to have been with her when the trauma was fresh, when she was, as Danny had said, on the edge of psychosis, when her mind was shutting down her memories to preserve itself and her ability to function? Maybe he couldn't imagine what that had been like for her. Maybe that was a MacKenzie that only Danny and Jim would ever know. 

 

As June moved on, most of Will's spare time was consumed with writing the commencement address that he was to deliver on June 22nd to the Northwestern University Class of 2013. When the call inviting him to speak had come in from the President of the University, Will had been almost speechless with surprise. "Seriously, sir; you want me?" Will had asked.

"Yes. You're not still on vertigo medicine, are you, Mr. McAvoy?" Morton Schapiro asked with a chuckle. Although, speakers were of course free to choose their own topic, the President let it be known that he would very much like Will to talk about the Greater Fools movement and it's meaning for American youth. Jokingly, he asked Will whether in light of the youth response to his editorials, he still believed that this is the worst generation, period. 

Will winced. "No, sir," he replied. "It's the kid at the end of Camelot."

To help Mac be more comfortable making the trip to Chicago since she'd be 32 weeks pregnant by Commencement Day, Leona offered Will one of the AWM jets. As Charlie grew rapidly throughout June, MacKenzie was getting less and less comfortable with each passing day. This was due in no small part to the stretching of the adhesions from the knife wound. Of course, she ended up telling Will what was going on. It had only taken one bad evening at home and one look at Will's pale face and terrified expression for her to realize that whatever guilt he felt about "driving her away to the Middle East where she was knifed by an Islamic radical" was nothing compared to the horror of thinking for even a second that she was going into pre-term labor again. 

As the day neared for their departure, Charlie miraculously shifted position which greatly relieved the stress she had been putting on Mac's scarring and adhesions. At the checkup to clear Mac for the trip, Danny, who was sharing her care with Denise Barrington, told her and Will that he thought that most of the adhesions had probably already separated, and the worst was over. Mac certainly hoped so. Charlotte now weighed a little over four pounds according to the ultrasound computer estimate, and Mac's pregnancy had reached the stage where total strangers seemed to feel compelled to share their experiences of being in labor with her. When she mentioned this to Danny, he chuckled and then growing serious, he looked at her and said, "you know, Mac, from what I saw when you got to me in Kabul, going through a normal delivery is going to be a piece of cake compared to . . . " he drifted off when he saw the pain in Will's eyes. "With or without an epidural, you're going to wonder what all the fuss is about." The pictures Danny took of Charlie brought tears to Mac's eyes. She wasn't a fetus anymore, she was a baby, sucking her thumb in one of them and scratching her nose in another. Will didn't think he'd ever felt love before in his life like he did holding MacKenzie and looking at the face of the child they had made. At over four pounds, if Charlie were born tomorrow, Danny had pronounced, she'd most likely survive.

Will bought Mac two gorgeous new dresses for the commencement festivities and two pairs of Manolo Blahnik shoes with one and a half inch heels that were so sexy even Mac couldn't dismiss them as "old lady shoes." They finalized their plans for the trip, including dinner with Tony and Ellie Diamanté, who were driving over from Cleveland, and they flew off to Chicago where Will would be given an honorary doctorate in journalism. Since he had already earned a Juris Doctor degree, Don and Neal and some of the others had started calling him, "Doctor Doctor" around the studio.

He was so unbelievably intelligent, MacKenzie thought, watching him working on his remarks somewhere over Pennsylvania, and so passionately engaged in everything around him. He could have been anything he wanted to be. He'd practically become a medical doctor, or at least a respiratory technician, dealing with the aftermath of her gunshot wound. Ellie had put him in touch with the specialist who wrote and supervised the Cleveland Clinic's web pages and blog on respiratory issues and pregnancy, and Mac's condition, treatment and progress had been the subject of more posts than she cared to think about. But Ellie had laughed at her embarrassment and told her that Will had greatly impressed Dr. Sullivan who had told her that Will's input was extremely valuable and had undoubtedly helped a lot of doctors and their pregnant patients all around the country. Yep, that was her guy.

They had a great time in Chicago. Leona had arranged for them to stay in The Donald's private suite at the Trump International Hotel, and it tickled Mac to see Ellie walking around like a little girl pointing out for the out-of-towners, the landmarks of her hometown from the terrace and through the floor to ceiling penthouse windows. They attended a reception for major donors to the Medill School of Journalism that wasn't nearly as boring as they had feared, and a dinner at the President's home. As they went from event to event at Northwestern, Mac loved watching Will. It was odd but not uncomfortable walking around carrying and displaying the undeniable evidence that she was indeed "fucking Will McAvoy" and being a demonstration, if not an extension, of his alpha-dog strength, virility and fecundity. He never seemed to tire of answering the same questions. "Yes, we're thrilled." "Yes, it's a girl." "Yes, I can't wait to have two beautiful women in my life." "Yes, we've decided on a name. We're going to name her Charlotte and call her Charlie after Charlie Skinner who's the Director of our News Division." "Yes, it won't be long now."

What little free time they had was spent mostly in bed. Although they'd been forced to abandon a couple of their favorite positions, making love to Will remained Mac's greatest pleasure. She loved seeing him as relaxed and happy as he was on this trip. At an outdoor student celebration on the beach sponsored by Greater Fools from Northwestern, the University of Chicago, DePaul and a couple of other local schools, Will accepted the proffer of a microphone and guitar and serenaded MacKenzie with a rendition of Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl," the first song he had ever sung to her (okay, so her eyes are technically hazel), and one, she knew, that he could not bring himself to listen to, let alone play, during the years she was away. Then he joined a band that was playing Springsteen's "No Surrender," a song that Will had mentioned during an appearance on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, and that had since become something of an anthem for Greater Fools.

Finally, the big day arrived, and MacKenzie sat in the VIP section in Ryan Field, and watched the academic procession of Northwestern's faculty and administration file in to the strains of "Trumpet Voluntary in D Major." It finished with Will in an academic gown and purple trimmed doctor's hood recognizing by color that he possessed a doctorate in law. He would remove it to receive a second hood in a few minutes, this one trimmed in crimson to signify that it was awarded in journalism. Will was accompanied by President Schapiro, both of whom, along with a few others, walked up and stood on the large purple draped and curtained stage to watch the graduating Seniors file in and take seats before them on the field. Daddy looks so handsome up there, Charlie, Mac said telepathically to her daughter, I wish you could see him. God, she thought, I really have gone mental! But then she reflected that she would never be more connected to another human being than she was to her daughter during gestation, and it wouldn't surprise Mac if some telepathic channels were identified by scientific theory and evidence in her lifetime. 

After being awarded his honorary doctorate, Will walked to the lectern and adjusted the microphone. He thanked President Schapiro and the University trustees and students for inviting him to speak and for honoring him with this degree. Then he said, "I have decided to preface my prepared remarks by telling you the true story of what happened the last time I was here at Northwestern. As many of you will recall, a few years ago, I appeared on a panel hosted by the Journalism School." A ripple of laughter spread through the stadium. "I shall begin with a confession. I was not taking vertigo medication." More laughter. "I said some things at that time of which I'm not very proud. Okay, basically I'm not proud of almost everything that I said that day, with a few exceptions that I will discuss in a moment. So, here's what happened.

"As I was sitting up there, dodging the issues, giving cynical and flippant answers to serious questions and doing my 'Jay Leno of cable news' impression, I looked out into the audience of students, faculty and guests and thought that I saw my former Executive Producer, MacKenzie McHale. Now, as some of you may know, at that point in time, I had not seen Ms. McHale for about two and a half years . . . except in my dreams, where I saw her pretty much every night." A ripple of soft understanding laughter was heard and Mac could see some of the students shake their heads in empathy.

"As far as I knew, Mac was still somewhere in the Middle East, and not likely to be in an auditorium in Evanston, Illinois. Also, despite the fact that I was hopelessly in love with her and she was on my mind everyday and I dreamed of her most every night, I had convinced myself that she had completely forgotten me." Here, Will put his finger tips to his temple in a perfect imitation of one of his wife's signature gestures and said in a British accent, "'McAvoy . . . McAvoy . . . Oh, yes! . . . now I remember . . . I used to date a Will McAvoy years ago . . .wow, I hadn't thought of him in ages'. . . . And, well, you get the picture," Will added in his own voice, over the raucous laughter of the assembled multitude. "So, my thinking that I saw her, actually, my thinking that I was hallucinating her, in the same room with me was a pretty emotionally overwhelming experience. It provoked a range of feelings from anger at myself for still caring for someone I was sure had forgotten me to wanting to jump up and run into the crowd to see if it really was Mac out there. As my emotional circuitry was frying, two things happened. The first was that our panel moderator refused to allow me to dodge the question posed by a young woman whom I now count among my closest friends and colleagues, "why is America the greatest country on Earth?" The second was that the woman I had been looking at in the audience, and had finally convinced myself was not MacKenzie McHale held up a sign . . . This sign." And Will held up the page from Mac's notebook with "IT'S NOT" written on it. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd as people began to realize what Will's being in possession of the sign must mean. The man sitting next to Mac turned to her. She just smiled more broadly and raised her eyebrows. 

"Then the sign vanished, and again the face of the woman in question morphed into one that I was sure was not Mac's. But then the sign reappeared, disappeared again and was replaced by this sign . . . " and Will held up the second page from Mac's notebook, displaying the words, "BUT IT CAN BE." And suddenly, I got in touch with the fact that at some point after Mac left News Night, I had stopped being a journalist and become a TV personality, someone whom MacKenzie McHale, if she were in that auditorium, would hate to see. 

"I want to apologize to every student here for calling yours the worst generation ever. First, that's not true. Not to disagree with Tom Brokaw, but like all of the generations before you, yours is both the greatest and the worst we have seen. And I'll get back to that in a moment. Second, the anger I displayed in that statement was anger that I felt at myself not at you. I had become the worst . . . period . . . television . . . period . . . news anchor . . . ever . . . period." More laughter.

"But other than that statement and being rude to Jenna, for which I have apologized personally and been forgiven, I am proud of the rest of my answer to her question. And, as usual, much of the credit goes to the prompting of the woman who has brought direction to my work and my life, the woman who had not forgotten me, after all, and who, as you may have guessed already was indeed sitting in the audience that fateful day, my Executive Producer and my wife, MacKenzie McHale." There followed a round of deafening applause.

"MacKenzie once told me that the reason she wanted to be an American was that we are the only country on Earth that was founded on the concept that we can do better . . . We can always do better. This is the concept that drives all of us at ACN connected with News Night, and I believe is the basic vow that must be taken by everyone who aspires to be a Greater Fool."

Will went on to describe the role played by Greater Fools in economics, "the people who defy the odds, who invest in new technologies and products with no proven track records or readily discernible channels of distribution. The people who go from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm. In short, as Sloan Sabbith reminded me when I was feeling particularly down about being publicly labeled a fool on the cover of New York Magazine, 'this country was built by Greater Fools.'" He told the students that the greatest lesson they can learn in life is to take the risk of being thought of as a fool. That each of us has inside the capacity to be our best and our worst selves, which is why societies and generations each have traits that are the best and worst of their constituents. The problems start when we convince ourselves that only our enemies are bad and we alone have cornered the market on goodness. He spoke of his affinity for musicals and particularly, the end of "Camelot," and how he had once felt like King Arthur and hoped that someone would keep alive the memory of what the great broadcast journalists of the past and present were trying to accomplish. But now, maybe because he was about to have a child, he realized that it wasn't memory that should be preserved, but the passing on of action, and that now his hope was that perhaps out there listening to his voice was the next Murrow and the next Cronkite. He spoke of the issues that were dear to him "gun sanity" and the "preservation of rational thought and the concept of compromise" in government. He spoke of his hope that the Society of Greater Fools would continue to embrace both liberals and conservatives since the willingness to take chances on the future and the determination that we can always do better are "not political ideologies, but aspects of the American condition." He ended by wishing that each of them "will find work that you love to do and people with whom you love doing it, for the greatest success of all is the ability to cultivate engagement and passion in your work and in your life."

When he received a standing ovation, he blew MacKenzie a kiss.


	40. Further Disclosures

MacKenzie was restless and withdrawn as they started the flight back from Chicago to New York. 

"Are you okay?" Will finally broke down and asked.

"You know, you couldn't really have believed that I'd forgotten you," she said, her tone angry and accusatory. It was such a bolt out of the blue that it took Will a moment to realize that she must be referring to his confession at the beginning of the commencement address. "I emailed you from Pakistan. I started again after Landstuhl and I . . . I couldn't make myself stop. I know they went to the right email because . . . " Mac's voice rose and her agitation was plainly displayed on her face, "because you have them all. I've seen them on your computer."

Will consciously fought the knee jerk (yes, he thought, jerk is the operative word here) reaction to respond defensively and say something ridiculous like, "maybe I could imagine you'd forgotten me because you fucked Brian Brenner behind my back?" Instead, he looked at her, and focused on how incredibly fucking lucky he was that she was sitting there with his ring on her finger, nurturing his unborn child with her body. How amazingly forgiving she was of all the years he'd cut her off, and rejected her repeated attempts to communicate with him, and how unbelievable it was that after all of that, her reaction to Charlie's telling her that he needed her was to go to Evanston, Illinois, to see for herself how bad things were. 

"All I can tell you, Mac, is that my daemons were powerful enough to overcome both evidence and rationality. I decided that morning when you tried to tell me what had happened with Brenner that everything I'd thought you had ever felt for me was a sham. I convinced myself that you had never loved me, didn't hurt and didn't miss me." Tears of frustration and rage leaked from the corners of his wife's eyes. "Kenz . . . " he said lovingly, holding out his hand.

She shook her head violently. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't . . . ." She wrapped her arms across her body, and rocked slightly in the luxurious leather captain's chair on the AWM jet. What on Earth had brought this on, Will wondered. Really, it didn't matter, and he should be thankful that it didn't happen more often. She had paid for her four months with Brian with so many years of rejection and torture at his hands. He scrubbed those hands over his face. "What . . . what more . . . could I . . . ." she choked out, crying harder and starting to wheeze, "how could . . . I . . . have shown . . . that I loved you?" 

She had started taking it on herself. Okay, enough of this, Will thought, ignoring the lighted warning and unbuckling his seat belt. He got up and knelt in front of his wife's seat. "Kenzie, darling, I was lost in my past when I was making those . . . I don't know if you can even call them decisions. You . . . " he reached up and put his palm against her cheek, figuring that if she pushed him away, he'd just take it. But, of course, she didn't. She leaned into it his hand and closed her eyes. "It was all out of proportion to anything you'd done wrong and it ignored everything you'd done right."

"I know. I know you saw . . . your mother forgive your father . . . repeatedly. I know . . . you watched . . . him betray . . . that forgiveness . . . repeatedly." She looked at him and he saw the love in her eyes. Her love for him that had made her return and have faith that it would conquer his bitterness. Her love that always conquered all. He lowered his hand and took both of her hands in his, trying to put into words the gratitude that her felt. "Get up, Billy, or you'll hurt your knee," she said lovingly before he had found the words. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, then stood and returned to his seat. He wanted to put his arms around her but the table console between their seats made it impossible, so he settled for holding her hand. "I get so angry sometimes about . . . about . . . the things . . . the time we've lost," Mac was saying. "I let it poison the time we have." 

"Not nearly as often as you are entitled to," Will replied. 

Mac squeezed his hand and released it. Smiling at him to convey that everything was alright, she turned back to the issue of The Atlantic Magazine she had been pretending to read. She was thinking about Will's mother, Elizabeth McAvoy. She'd had this amazing beautiful baby, Mac mused. Surely, she must have loved him. She'd carried him inside her. She must have appreciated her son's brilliance and precocity when he grew into a toddler. And, that's were the rubber left the road in Mac's thinking. This woman, whose name Mac was about to give her daughter, seemed to have never lifted a finger to protect her son, her baby, from being beaten physically and brutalized emotionally. Or if she'd tried to stop it, she was completely ineffectual since it had gone on until Will had grown big enough to take action to . . . God! . . . to protect her. It made MacKenzie feel ill to think about it. It's not the way it's supposed to work. She couldn't imagine allowing anyone, even Will, to harm Charlotte. What would she do if Will began to hit Charlie? It was an action so far from the man she knew that it was like trying to imagine life on Mars. But what, she asked herself. Not abandon him. Get him to seek help, but sure as shit get Charlie to some place safe were he couldn't hurt her. And if he wouldn't get help, then she'd save Charlie by leaving Will, if it came to that. She knew she would, as much as she loved him. Elizabeth had apparently done none of those things. As best as Mac could tell, she'd simply denied that anything was wrong while her husband inflicted great damage on their child. 

Some of the anger that Mac usually reserved for John McAvoy welled up at Elizabeth. She'd talk to Rosemary about it, Mac decided, and Dr. Habib. Somehow instinctively she knew not to bring it up with Will. She suspected that Habib might be wrong in saying that Will had dug up all of the land mines from his childhood. Not that Mac thought he would ever reject her again, but she had a feeling that he had never processed his emotions about his mother's role in his childhood, and she would not risk being the one who pushed that confrontation. She was so lost in her reverie, that it took a second for her to realize that Will was standing over her unbuckling her seat belt. 

"We've leveled off," he said. "The sign's out. Come, sit with me." He'd been watching MacKenzie's face for the last few minutes. She hadn't been reading the magazine and she wasn't relaxing. He reached for her hand and helped her rise from her seat, then, sitting back down in his, he pulled her onto his lap and into his arms.

"What are you doing, Billy?" she laughed. "Going for membership in the mile high club, or whatever they call it?" When he looked at her strangely, she exclaimed, "you've done it! Yes, you have . . . ."

"No, I haven't."

"I don't believe you. It was Erin, wasn't it? You didn't fly anywhere with Nina, did you?"

"No," he laughed. "Really. Really, Mac, I've never had sex on a plane. Hand to God."

She looked dubious. "Now, if the plane is struck by lightening we'll know whom to blame." But she relaxed and laughed when his nuzzling of her neck started to tickle.

"I have to tell Sloan," Mac said with a sigh a few minutes later, her head resting on his shoulder.

"That I've never had sex on a plane?" Will joked, wondering what she was talking about. "I don't see where that's any of her business." He was reminded of his conversation with Ted McHale when they had shared a Scotch before his wedding. "You may have figured this out already," McHale said, " but I've found that sometimes with Mackie and her mother, especially when they are upset, it's best to just pull up your anchor, take you hand off the wheel and let their current take your boat where it will." Will had the feeling that this was one of those times. "Tell Sloan what?" he asked seriously.

"About Kabul and William," Mac replied glumly.

"Okay. But you don't sound like it's something that you want to share with her. Why do you feel compelled to do it?" Will asked, although he could guess at the answer.

"Because I told Jim. And now if I don't tell Sloan it will be like . . . I don't know . . . like I'm playing favorites, I guess."

"Kenz, I don't think that you should feel like you need to do anything you don't want to do. That didn't come out right. What I mean is . . . Well, something that personal . . . you shouldn't feel . . . Sloan will understand. She loves you, Mac. And, it's not something that Jim is ever going to mention to Sloan or anyone else, ever."

"I know. I know all of that. It's me. I feel funny having told Jim. I'm just as close to Sloan. Actually, that's the problem. There's a distance with Jim, as close as we are, that made me able to be unemotional. With Sloan, I'm afraid I'll not be able to get through it without . . . crumbling."

"And, you're worried about crumbling because . . . ?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just sick of crying," Mac replied as tears started leaking from beneath her closed eyelids. "And, well, Sloan has this sort of idealized . . . I don't know . . . vision of us, I guess. I mean she knows about things being painful, but . . . . It's like the Rudy Hug, which is really her thing. She has no idea what that night was actually like for me." She sat up and Will could tell that she needed to just keep talking. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and listened. "When you put your arms around me . . . I wondered how I would survive if . . . when . . . you stopped . . . stopped and remembered to hate me again." Will suppressed the desire to remind her that he had never hated her, knowing that those words would sound hollow coming from someone who'd tortured her. As if reading his mind, MacKenzie corrected herself, "well, not hate me, but be angry with me for hurting you."

Then, suddenly, she changed topics, and Will thought fondly again of his father-in-law. "What I was trying to say before is that I feel like I could not have been more . . . " she paused, collecting her thoughts, wanting to express this precisely. "I feel like when I was on the foyer floor, clutching at you and begging you not to leave . . . me . . . leave us . . ." She saw Will close his eyes as pain and regret swamped him. "I feel that my deepest, truest emotions were stripped naked in that moment . . . that your importance to me . . . to my . . . survival . . . was on display for all the world to see . . . an inescapable fact." He opened his eyes and met hers. Hers glowed with emotion and affront. "I know that you saw none of it. I feel . . . outrage . . . when I think that your par . . . a . . . upbringing put you in a place where you could have looked at me and not have what you saw get in the way of the tape that was playing in your head, in which . . . what? . . . I'd get up after you closed the door and think, 'my, that went well' and call Brian to pick me up?" Will knew she didn't expect an answer. "Do you want to know what I actually did when you closed . . . " Her voice and composure cracked and she allowed him to draw her close again. " . . . closed . . . the . . . door?"

"Yes," he said softly, kissing her hair, "yes, I do, Kenz."

She pulled away slightly and turned her head and looked at him. Slowly the anger and outrage melted away as she stared into his eyes, hers glistening with unshed tears and swirling green, yellow and brown in what he had always thought was the most exquisite color he had ever seen. Then, she smiled sadly through her tears, and shaking her head slightly, said, "I retched all over your bloody floor, of course. It was morning."

Nothing she could have said would have been more painful for Will. Nothing could have brought home more sharply that this had been the moment in time, the precise action that had put into motion the events that led to Kabul . . . that killed their baby and had very nearly killed his MacKenzie as well. If Will had turned around - and God knew there had been a part of him that wanted to do just that, Billy, who'd been bound and gagged and hijacked by the monster. If he had opened the door and seen her, just asked her, he knew she'd have told the truth about why she was sick. And who, he wondered, would have won in that moment, Billy, who could have taken enough strength from the news that she carried his child to listen to her about the rest, or the monster who believed it was - he could hardly summon the thought, it was so repugnant - believed it was Brenner's. And if the monster had won and he'd accused her of being pregnant by Brian would that have been worse than what actually happened? No, of course not, he quickly concluded, because, given the chance, MacKenzie would have defeated the monster with facts - blood types and DNA. 

Finally he spoke, "Don't feel hesitant about telling Sloan because you don't want her to be critical of me. I did what I did. You don't have to hide it to protect me. That goes for your parents too." He was instantly sorry that he'd alluded to her resistance to ever telling Ted and Margaret about their first grandchild when he saw the look of dread spread across her face. "Let's keep talking about Sloan," he said hastily. 

"Okay," she said, but she didn't, at least not immediately. Instead, she talked about the night of "the Rudy Hug." "I waited for you to pull away . . . from the hug, you know . . . but you didn't," Mac said, a tone of wonder in her voice. "Even after we stopped hugging, you kept your arm around me while we watched them all file into your office. I think that's why I was able to keep it together in the studio and all the way home in the cab. I got up to my flat and through the door before my legs gave out and I started to cry. I fell . . . or rather sank . . . down right inside the door, and had a nice little bout of hysterics." A look of dawning comprehension came over her face. "I wonder if that's what triggered the nightmare that night 'cause I hadn't one in a while, and they follow a pattern, you know." No, he didn't know. Her relatively calm demeanor told him that she'd described this to Habib, many times. "They all start in your foyer, your old foyer," she clarified unnecessarily. "Then after you leave, they switch to the hotel room." Oh, Christ! Will closed his eyes the way he always did when faced with great emotional pain. He remembered being a small boy and closing his eyes . . . . 

"You were alone?" he asked, coming back abruptly to the conversation, and speaking without thinking.

She shook her head at the idiocy of the question. "No, Billy, I invited the cab driver up to watch me fall apart on the floor. . . . I fucking crawled to the bloody bedroom because I was shaking too much to stand. I wasn't in the mood for company. The . . . hysteria finally passed enough that I fell asleep, and when I woke up . . . from the nightmare . . . I . . ."

"Called me."

"Yes, and you answered. The Nightbird talked to me." She sounded awed and amazed. "You played music, you played 'Mr. Tambourine Man' for me while I fell asleep again. When I picked up the phone to dial I was intending to call Jim. But I hadn't awakened him during the night in months . . . " She saw Will wince and almost stopped and changed subjects. But a bit of the outrage still burned and she felt like he should confront the damage his parents did by making him hurt so much that he could doubt his entire reality in an instant. "It felt weak to lean on Jim again, so I decided that I could get by just hearing your answering message." They both stared at each other, aware of the parallel to the night and morning William was born. "I expected you to be asleep with your phone silenced."

"But not Jim's?"

"No," she shook her head like it was a silly question, "he never puts . . . put . . . himself out of contact. I imagine he does now," she smiled at Will, "but he never did back then." Will felt a stab of the old jealousy at this subtle and unintended reminder that Jim had performed the duties of protector so much better than he ever had.

Will remembered that night, another Valentine's Day night, with preternatural clarity. He hadn't been asleep when she called. Since he'd gotten home, he'd been drinking Scotch and smoking cigarettes and listening to music, his basic formula for mourning the life that MacKenzie had ripped away and destroyed. He had looked at the name on the phone display for a long time telling himself not to answer, that he had already put a dangerous rent in his armor and he could not afford another. But he couldn't stop himself. When he heard her voice . . . he remembered the fear and fragility in it . . . he couldn't talk to her, hearing her hurt, hurting the way he was. So he'd hidden behind the Nightbird. 

The Nightbird didn't need to ask why she'd called. Instead, the Nightbird had asked MacKenzie from Midtown what she wanted to hear, and she'd told him she wanted to hear "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, and "Behind Blue Eyes" by the Who, and a few other songs. Finally, he'd asked her why she wasn't asleep and she told him that she had been but she'd had a bad dream, so he'd played Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" and then "Dreams," by Heart for her too. She'd sounded so exhausted that he told her to close her eyes and try to fall back to sleep, that he would end the call after he knew she was sleeping. She'd asked how he would know she was asleep and he'd told her that he could tell from the way her breathing sounded. He could feel again the pain that had sliced through him as he'd realized that he could still remember the sound of her slumber. She'd agreed to try to fall asleep and he had played Hall and Oates' "Every Time You Go Away" and "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Just Like a Woman" by Bob Dylan. When he heard her breathing become slow and steady, he'd spoken over the music, "Mac, MacKenzie . . . MacKenzie, Mac . . ." And when there was no answer, he'd whispered, "sweet dreams, Kenz, I love you." And then he had put down the phone, stubbed out his cigarette, turned off the music and thinking about how she had felt in his arms, cried like he hadn't cried in three and a half years.

"What are you thinking about, Billy?" his wife's voice whispered in his ear. "You're so far away." 

He answered by putting his mouth over hers and kissing her as if he could not believe she was there. "The Nightbird playing music for you when you called," he said when they came up for air. 

After a pause, she asked, "Were you serious about never having had sex in an airplane?"

"Yes, really," he laughed. "Why would I lie to you about that after I paraded the women I was fucking in front of you like some sort of adolescent asshole?"

"Well, in that case," Mac said, drawing out the syllable in a throaty voice and looking at him through her eyelashes. "I'd hate to have to tell Sloan that you've never had sex on a plane," she said seductively in that upper crust British drawl of hers that he found insanely attractive. 

"Is that an offer, Ms. McHale?"

"That's Mrs. McAvoy to you, Ace." Then she said seriously, "there are only the pilot and co-pilot on the plane beside us; right? And their jobs don't include coming back here to see if we want coffee?"

"No. We declined the wait staff. We're on our own in the galley. Their jobs are confined to the cockpit." 

In response, she shifted her body so the pressure on his groin intensified, and began to suck on his earlobe and then kiss his neck. He moved his hand along her thigh over the tight fabric of her leggings. Whoever said that sex solves nothing, he thought, was a person who was not having good sex. Great sex solves everything. It's the spoonful of sugar that Mary Poppins sang about. The one that makes the fucking medicine go down. In a moment, nothing would matter except the pleasure he and MacKenzie could give to each other.

 

Will took Charlie Skinner out to dinner the night that Mac was going to tell Sloan about William so that they could have the apartment to themselves. The women ate in the kitchen, Chinese take-out right out of the paper cartons, and Mac opened a bottle of wine for Sloan. After they finished the office gossip and talked about Don starting to test the waters about marriage and kids, Mac changed the subject.

"Sloan, there's something that Dantana knows about me that I'm afraid if he gets to the point that he has nothing left to lose, he'll make it public, either out of some mis-begotten belief that it would be settlement leverage or simply out of spite. I want to tell you about it because I . . . I wouldn't want you learning it by opening your morning paper and reading it on Page 6."

Sloan could see the strain that had appeared on Mac's face. "Sure, of course, Kenzie. Whatever. You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Okay," Mac sighed and then took a deep breath. "Let's go into the living room where we . . . well, certainly I . . . will be more comfortable. Just leave everything," she said when Sloan started to clean up the remains of their meal, fearing that if she waited, she'd lose her nerve.

They sat down next to each other on the sofa. Sloan with her wine glass and Mac clutching her water. She angled her body up against the pillows at the arm rest so that she was facing toward Sloan. What the fuck is this about, Sloan thought, watching MacKenzie settling herself and preparing to talk. It seemed like more than the usual ritual of Mac trying to make her pregnant body comfortable. 

"You know that Dantana's complaint has allegations that I attempted suicide in Afghanistan?" Mac began. Sloan nodded. "Well, it's sort of true." Sloan's eyes widened and she reached for her friend's hand, but wisely said nothing. "I gave birth to a baby, prematurely, in Kabul . . . ."

"What! What?" This time Sloan couldn't control herself, as concern and horror welled up and overtook her.

"Oh, this is coming out all wrong . . . ." Mac sighed again and squeezed Sloan hand. "I was pregnant once before . . . Six years ago . . . ." She saw comprehension dawning on Soan's face. "Yes, when Will and I broke up . . . ."

"Will was the father then too?" Sloan asked, although the way she said the words, it was only halfway a question. 

"Of course." Sloan smiled slightly at the way Mac said it. 

"I can't believe that he broke up with you knowing that you were pregnant. Not from the way he acts now. He's the most attentive father-to-be . . . He gets twitchy if you're 60 seconds late coming into the conference room . . . ."

"Yes, he is." Mac smiled at a montage of memories of Will's "twitchiness," making sure a hundred times a day in a hundred different ways that she was fine. "He didn't know."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I tried. Oh, Sloan," she continued before the economist could interrupt again, "that's why I told him about Brian when I did. I'd not seen Brian for over a year, and I'd been hiding our . . . whatever . . . reconciliation . . . from Will all that time. But I felt that I needed to come clean since we were going to have a family . . . I thought that a marriage should begin with no secrets. What a fucking fool I was . . . ." MacKenzie pulled her hand out of Sloan's and ran both of them through her hair in agitation before folding her arms around her body and lowering her head. 

"No, Kenz, I think that's right," Sloan said, putting her hand on Mac's shoulder. "I understand that perfectly. What happened?"

"I made a hash of it. We were at his apartment having breakfast. We'd just showered after . . . Anyway, I started to tell him that after I'd broken up with Brian, he had contacted me again, but before I could say that it had been over a year before, Will interrupted me and asked if I had slept with Brian. Like an idiot, I answered the question and said I had. Will . . . Will didn't hear anything I said after that." She looked up at Sloan, who could see tears glistening in her friend's eyes. ". . . he didn't hear anything I said for years after that. He left the apartment and told me to be gone when he got back."

"You couldn't make him listen?"

Mac shook her head. "You can't imagine what it was like . . . It was like a curtain descended in front of him and he could only hear himself speak . . . and the only thing he had to say was that he wanted me gone . . . out of his life . . . all traces of me . . . out of his work . . . out of his apartment . . . out of his city. I was . . . dead to him . . . I remember . . . him saying . . . those words . . . " She had begun to cry as she spoke and then to sob. How could it still hurt this much, she wondered.

"Oh, Kenz . . . " Sloan shifted on the sofa to where she could put her arms around Mac. "It's okay. Just let it out." She rubbed Mac's back to calm her, even as she became alarmed at the sound of her friend's wheezing and breathlessness. After a minute, Mac pulled herself up.

"I . . . screamed . . . and . . . cried . . . asking him . . . to let . . . me . . . explain . . . what had . . . happened . . . ."

"Mac, where's your medicine? Let me get it. You can't breathe, Kenzie. You're scaring me."

"There's . . . one . . . by . . . the bed," Mac replied, hating her weakness, but realizing that Sloan was right. All of her doctors had warned her repeatedly that keeping her airways open was just as important for Charlotte in the last trimester as it had been earlier, maybe more important because she was bigger now and sucking up more oxygen. Sloan returned with a box of tissues and the albuterol inhaler. Mac used it twice, blowing her nose in between, and sat for a moment concentrating on relaxing her breathing.

Sloan watched her, concern and pain showing plainly on her face. "You never told him you were pregnant before he left. Did you try to tell him afterwards?"

"The answer, I guess, is yes and no. I took all of my stuff out of his apartment. Moved back into mine." When she saw Sloan looking around, she added, "he didn't live here at the time. It was a smaller place, further uptown.

"I started almost immediately texting and emailing and leaving voice messages telling him I loved him, asking him to let me explain and saying that it wasn't what he thought. I thought he'd answer me. We cared so much for each other, we were happy together, I couldn't imagine him throwing it all over in an instant without getting the full story. But . . . " Mac trailed off and closed her eyes, trying to contain her tears.

"Never, uh? I guess, I sort of knew this part from other things you've said. So you never spoke to him again until you came back to work at ACN?" Mac shook her head. "Jesus, Kenz," Sloan murmured.

"I kept on sending the texts, emails and voice messages for the next three months. I never said I was pregnant in any of the messages I left or sent, and I didn't put it in the subject line of any of the emails." Sloan didn't seem to find this strange, Mac noted. "I just kept saying I was sorry . . . that I never meant to hurt him . . . And asking him to give me a chance to tell him what happened. After a little while, I started to come apart, mentally and physically. I couldn't concentrate on anything . . . I stopped sleeping and could barely force myself to eat. I lost . . . I don't know . . . 15 pounds, at least."

"While you were pregnant?" 

"Yes." Mac smiled sadly. "My doctor . . . Well, you met Denise at the wedding . . . She was going crazy. But there was nothing anyone could do but me and I was . . . selfish, stupid and immature."

"Mac, what are you saying? You were devastated and heartsick. I can still remember what Will could do to you as recently as two years ago. Jesus, I can't imagine what his cutting you off like that must have been like for you. Alone and pregnant."

"Nevertheless, I had a life inside me that was totally dependent on me for survival . . . and . . . and . . . " Unexpectedly, the emotion rose up and grabbed MacKenzie by the throat, as her eyes stung once again with tears. "Fuck . . . fuck! I want to get through this without . . . ."

Sloan wrapped her in a quick embrace. "Okay, what happened next?"

"I went to Charlie . . . ." When Sloan's eyes grew large with surprise, Mac held up a hand to forestall the question. "No, I didn't tell him. And I don't want to go there, okay? I asked him to help me work again and get away from New York. He got me a gig as EP of a little fluff piece on American soldiers in Afghanistan. It was only like a month's work, maybe less and then I was supposed to come back . . . but . . . ."

"Did you tell anyone at all about the baby?"

"No. And most people still don't know, and that includes my parents and brothers."

"Who does know?"

"Will, Charlie, you, Jim, Will's sister Rosemary, Rebecca Halliday, Jerry Dantana, his lawyer," Mac answered, pausing to think. "a man named Robert Hummel, who I'll get to in a minute, Denise Barrington, Dan Shivitz . . . um . . . and, oh yes, Nina Howard and possibly Reese Lansing."

Now Sloan's eyes weren't just open wide, they were bugging out of her head. "What the fuck? Nina and Reese!"

Mac laughed at the expression on her friend's face. "Hold that thought for a moment. Take a drink of wine." Mac took a big gulp of her water. "Let me finish the underlying story before we start adding layers. 

"When I got to Kabul. I was about 23 weeks pregnant. I went into labor the second night, I think, maybe the third. I was at the Intercontinental Hotel. The baby was a boy." Oh, God, MacKenzie thought, why can't I just get through this? Just get it over with, she told herself, fast and unemotional, which was difficult with Sloan staring at her like her heart was breaking. "He lived . . ." She heard Sloan gasp, and saw her bring both of her hands up quickly to cover her mouth. Fast, fast, Mac thought, as her control started to slip. ". . . for only a few minutes. But . . . I . . . I had time . . . to baptize him . . . and name him, William Duncan." It was Sloan who crumbled first. 

"Oh, my God! Oh, Kenzie! Your baby was alive. They couldn't save him. I'm so . . . so sorry." Tears streamed down Sloan's face. "So sorry for you . . . and for Will. He . . . must be . . . sick about this." Mac handed her a tissue. Somehow, Sloan's breakdown had forestalled her own. Then, she could see Sloan's mind kick in again. "You had the baby at the hotel?" Sloan asked slowly like she was trying to put together a story that didn't add up. 

"Yes."

"You didn't go to a hospital?"

"After. After, he died, I did."

"Then, who delivered the baby?"

"Nobody, really. It . . . He was very small. He just came out."

"Were you in labor?" Sloan was casting around trying to dredge up what she knew about the birth process.

"Yes."

"For how long?" 

"I don't really know. Or, what I mean is, that depends on how you count when it started. But real contractions . . . five, six hours maybe."

"In a hotel room?"

"Yes."

"Who was with you? Jim?" 

"No! I hadn't met Jim, yet, and . . . " Mac tried to laugh, ". . . while I've asked a lot of strange things of Jim, I don't think I'd have asked him to go through labor with me."

"So, who, then?"

"Nobody."

"You were alone?" Sloan said it like she couldn't quite make herself believe that it was what MacKenzie was saying. Mac nodded. "All alone? You gave birth to a baby by yourself." The final sentence was said as a statement, not a question.

Mac nodded again. "A very little baby."

.

"Why didn't you go to a hospital?"

"For the same reason I didn't eat or sleep." That was not the answer Mac had intended to give, and the words surprised her even as they came out of her mouth. She looked horrified. "I don't mean that like I'm blaming Will, Sloan," MacKenzie grabbed the other woman's arm. 

"But he is to blame, Kenz. I love Will and that's never going to change. But he brutalized you. Maybe he didn't beat the shit out of you, but he might as well have. He tortured you emotionally. He froze you out which is about the cruelest thing one human can do to another, anthropologically speaking. Not responding when you, someone who had been good and kind and loving to him for over a year, was asking him, over and over for months, just to let you talk to him, just to listen." Sloan shook her head. "No matter what you did, you didn't deserve that. He's got a lot to answer for, if you ask me." 

Mac looked utterly miserable. "Don't . . . Please don't . . . He needs you, Sloan. I didn't go to the hospital because . . . at first, I denied what was happening. Then, when it was undeniable that I was losing him . . . the baby . . . ." Mac hung her head and whispered, "I wanted to die too. What did I have to live for? Will had cast me off . . . and our baby was dead." Mac couldn't help herself as a sob escaped her lips. 

"Why did you think you were dying?" Sloan asked.

"Because I was. I was bleeding . . . badly. I would have bled out, died . . . except the maid came to clean and let herself in when I didn't answer." Mac tried to laugh. "She expected the room to be empty. She got a bit of a shock finding a woman and the body of a premature infant on the floor in a pool of blood. She screamed and someone got the manager. That was this Hummel guy. He called an ambulance and they got me to a hospital. Hummel knows Dantana in Washington, if you can believe it. He knows I didn't call for help. That's what he told Dantana. That I just let myself bleed out in the room. He gave Jerry a statement a few years back . . . ."

Contemplation replaced the horror on Sloan's face as Mac spoke. "A few years ago?" Sloan asked. "Now I'm really confused. Genoa hadn't even happened a few years ago." 

"No. Originally, it had nothing to do with Genoa. It seems that early on in News Night 2.0, when Will started changing, Reese decided that he could get his Jay Leno back if he drove me away. So he put out feelers looking for dirt. Jerry gave him Hummel's statement and he gave it to Nina Howard to use for a take-down piece."

"Jesus Christ! That little shit."

"Will thinks there's a good chance that Reese never read it, just passed it along to Nina. Nina never wrote the story. Not even when she probably wanted to get rid of me worse than Reese. Nina gave Hummel's statement to Will the day I had that session with Rebecca after Dantana made the motion to have me deposed early."

Sloan shook her head. "I don't know what the fuck he was doing with Nina, but I do know she never had a chance."

Mac held up a shaky hand. "Please, I know I brought her up, but I just can't think about Nina tonight," she begged.

"Sure, Kenz," Sloan replied quickly. "Oh, God," she murmured miserably, and wrapped her arms around her friend. 

"After I got out of the hospital . . . Dan Shivitz was the doctor who took care of me . . . ."

"You're kidding!"

"After Danny fixed me up . . . I couldn't face Will . . . So I ran. Charlie wanted me to come home, but I couldn't . . . So I took the job at CNN. I was shutting down. I blocked out a lot of the details. I remembered that I'd had been pregnant and lost the baby, of course, but I couldn't remember Danny's last name, or William's name or that I'd seen him alive. I'd have nightmares but I didn't think they were memories until . . . recently." 

Sloan held Mac again for what seemed to be a very long time, neither of them speaking. When Mac pulled away and looked like she was going to continue, Sloan shook her head. MacKenzie's exhausted face and and pain filled eyes told Sloan that her friend couldn't take much more that night. As if on cue, she heard Will's key in the door, and saw Mac's head turn expectantly in that direction. He entered the apartment and walked toward the living room. 

"Hi," he said slightly sheepishly.

"Hey, bro." Sloan saw Will visibly relax at the familiar greeting, and realized that he was afraid that she would not feel the same toward him now that she knew what he'd done. "Well, Kenzie," she said, squeezing Mac again, "I need to be going." Pulling out her phone, she summoned a cab. "Thanks for dinner. Thanks for everything." She got up and walked to Will. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "She needs you. You've got a hell of a lot to make up for, Bro," Sloan whispered in his ear. He nodded, appreciating her directness, still his little sister whom he could count on to give it to him straight. "I can let myself out. See you both tomorrow," Sloan said more loudly and with a brightness that she didn't feel. But, as Sloan closed the door, she smiled at the last thing she saw, which was Will bending over and gathering his wife up into his arms.


	41. Son of Mine

Both Charlie and Will had been too distracted and preoccupied with their own emotions to be much good at sophisticated repartee at dinner. But then again, being in the same state made them good companions in a perverse sort of way. Neither seemed to mind when the other lost the thread of the conversation or just checked out for a few moments at a time. They drank uncharacteristically little. 

Will was worried about Mac's getting through describing William's birth and death for Sloan without coming apart. More than that, he could not shake the images of walking out on MacKenzie that his memory had been serving up with considerable clarity since the flight back from Chicago. If he had seen, and he had no reason to doubt that he had, the woman in his mind, or the terrified, trembling and sobbing woman that Mac became in her nightmares, he must have known on some level that he was being intensely cruel, that what he was doing was fucking killing her. But all he could remember was the overwhelming desire to punish her and the insane pain of her betrayal. 

Those emotions, he could see now, weren't tied to knowledge of much of anything about that betrayal. The only thing he knew for a fact (there was Mac's favorite word again) was that at some point after Brian broke up with her and she had started dating him (which occurred pretty much simultaneously since he'd been hovering in the wings), she had slept with Brian again. Habib had made that point beautifully by asking Will to answer some questions with the knowledge that he'd possessed when he'd walked out the door. Habib had then proceeded to interview Will like a journalist, asking things like when Mac had slept with Brian last, when was the first time they reconciled, how many times had she had sex with him during their reconciliation (God, how he hated that word when it was applied to Mac and Brenner), on how many occasions did she see Brian when they didn't have sex, over what period of time did she see Brenner, when was the last time she had been with him, if she was not seeing Brenner currently, when had she stopped, who had initiated the cessation and for what reasons. Although Will had started out calmly acknowledging his lack of information, by the end, he was furiously bellowing, "I don't know! I don't fucking know!" at the top of his lungs, over and over to every question.

"Whom are you angry at, Will?" Habib had asked calmly.

"Me! Me! God dammit! Who the fuck do you think? Why did I do that to her? Why? Why? I don't know that either," Will had finished with his voice breaking.

"That's what we're here for." Habib had assured him.

Charlie, for his part, was sitting across from Will reliving the fall of Saigon again and again, and repeatedly tricking Lee into taking the last seat on a helicopter with the lie that he would be right behind in the next one evacuating to the same ship. "Come quickly, Charlie. I have something to tell you," he heard her say against the deafening whirl of the chopper blades. He could feel her lips moving against his ear, and fought the urge a dozen times to reach up and scratch the slight itch they engendered. He had told himself at the time, that he was doing something selfless and noble, ending their relationship and sending her back to where someday she would realize that disinheritance and the life that he could offer as a freelance journalist were something that she only thought she wanted. Now, he saw himself as scared and pathetic and too insecure to believe that she could be telling the truth when she said that if her father wanted to push it that far, she would choose their life together over the one she had known. He had broken her heart and broken his own because he was afraid that he would fail her and she would end up discontented. By some absurd logic, to avoid possibly failing her in the future, he had decided to assuredly fail her in the present, and, as it turned out, fail her more spectacularly than he had dreamed possible.

He could see the Nantucket summer sun coming through the slatted blinds of the hotel room window and making stripes across the rug. He could see Lee's eyes, a little older now, almost seventeen years older, shining with tears and rage, as she said, "I was given a choice, Charlie, an ultimatum, marry Arthur or have an ab . . . ." He could still see her whirling away from him in mid-sentence and staring fiercely, silently into the sunlight determined not to cry. "And believe me," she had resumed after a long pause, "my father had a strong preference for the latter option." She had doted on Reese, he knew, partly to offset that sting of having both a grandfather and father neither of whom were happy having Charlie Skinner's bastard underfoot. But he also knew that she worshiped Reese because he was all she had left of love in her life. 

"You didn't want any more children?" he'd ask that day.

She'd laughed that sexy throaty laugh of hers and answered, "he said I had to marry Arthur. Nobody said I had to fuck him."

How many times had he started the letter? He'd lost count. "You were conceived in Saigon, just before it fell to the PAVN. I loved your mother more than you can ever know. . . ."

"He would have been six . . ." Charlie's reverie was interrupted enough for him to realize that Will was speaking.

"Sixteen," Charlie corrected automatically.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry, nothing, really nothing," Charlie made a waiving gesture like he was pushing away a fog. "What were you saying?"

"June 6th. William would have been six, a few weeks ago, this past June 6th."

Charlie gaped at Will. "No one mentioned . . . " he said trailing off as he realized that there was nothing to say.

"Well, we didn't exactly have a celebration," Will said, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

"Mac seemed okay. At least I don't remember her being particularly . . . " what, Charlie thought to himself, sad, depressed, stressed, crazy? "How did she seem to you?"

"Remarkably well, really. Better than I would have thought possible. Jim says that for years, June was really tough for her. She couldn't eat and she'd stop sleeping because the nightmares would get so bad she'd keep herself awake to avoid them." Will stopped talking, and pressed his lips into a thin line to maintain control. Charlie waited for him to continue. "But this year, she got through it with almost no nightmares, only a couple of what I'd call bad dreams. Habib says that PTSD is that way. It's the condition for which the phrase, 'Go figure,' was invented." 

"Did you just ignore the 6th?"

"No. In the morning, we went to Danny's shul." Charlie's eyebrows went up, both at the content of the statement and at Will's use of the Yiddish word for an orthodox synagogue. "Apparently when Mac was living with him in Kabul . . . " This was news to Charlie, but he didn't interrupt, especially since it didn't seem to disturb Will in the least. " . . . he used to chant this Hebrew mourner's prayer for her that she found comforting . . . I guess they do it every morning at the shul 'cause we didn't make any special arrangements, just met them there, Danny and Rivka and Avi, that's their baby. It's orthodox and Mac and Rivka sat up in a balcony so I wasn't with her, but Rivka called me afterwards and said that Mac was fine. Avi, he's 8 months and already has excellent taste in women, is crazy about Mac, and wanted her to hold him, which Rivka was afraid wouldn't be the best thing under the circumstances, so she was trying to distract Avi, when Mac just leaned over and said, 'come here, monkey,' and took him. I guess he was fascinated by the size of her belly and kept slapping it until he got Charlie to kick back at his hand. Rivka said that this seemed to help Mac, and that she never lost her composure even when she pointed out 'Daddy and Uncle Will' to Avi and told him that we were saying a prayer for her little boy who died because today was his birthday." Will's voice suddenly thickened and he abruptly looked away. After a minute, Will continued "We have his ashes at home now . . . " 

Charlie blanched slightly. "I guess, I never thought . . . I just assumed that . . . well, the hospital had . . . that the body had been disposed of . . . ." Then he winced at Will's stricken expression and felt like some kind of insensitive oaf.

"No. She was going to bury him, or rather Danny was going to sneak into an abandoned Jewish cemetery and bury him, but she couldn't leave him behind, so she carried his ashes with her . . . until she came back to New York.

"Jesus," Charlie whispered. 

"She wanted to hold them on the 6th. After we got home from ACN. That's the only time she cried. At least that I know of and I don't think she'd hide it from me."

"I think that maybe she's healing," Charlie said. "With you, she's finally able to really heal."

 

That seemed to be true. July went by in a blur of activity, and despite her steadily increasing girth, both Will and Mac seemed to be on top of their game. George Zimmerman was tried and acquitted of any wrongdoing in the shooting of Trayvon Martin, and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev entered a formal plea of not guilty in the Boston Marathon bombing case, which included charges stemming from the shoot-out with police in which his brother was killed. Both stories gave Will the opportunity to argue for a policy of "gun sanity" and explain why this would not violate the Second Amendment. 

Death seemed to be a theme in July. An Asiana Airlines jet come in too low and clipped a sea wall at San Francisco International Airport, killing two young girls, one of whom tragically was run over by a rescue vehicle. They had a robust debate about whether or how to cover Cory Monteith's fatal overdose, and decided to do it in an editorial at the close of the show. Will spoke about the tragedy and how terrifying it is to him as a parent-to be to think about trying to help his child as a teenager or young person battling depression and drugs. But, he reminded the audience, we can't just give up and call these deaths unavoidable, or worse, the product of decadence and an unhealthy mind. He ended passing along some practical advice from authorities on drug abuse and suicide prevention. It was masterful, as was the collaborative process between Will and MacKenzie that produced it. They were so lost in each other as they crafted and refined what Will would say that they didn't seem to notice that the half dozen other occupants of the conference room had fallen silent and were listening intently to their conversation as if it were live theater. 

"Wow!" Sloan had breathed to no one in particular outside the conference room when the rundown meeting broke up, "that was just like watching them fuck."

"Excuse me!" She heard Neal's surprised voice and turned into his wide-eyed stare.

"Oh, don't be a prude. You know exactly what I mean." Neal raised his eyebrows in agreement and nodded.

Helen Thomas' passing was bittersweet. At 92, she had lived a long and fascinating life, but she was also "one of them," so there was sadness of a personal nature. Helen was considered a friend by Leona and Charlie. She was also an acquaintance of Will's and of Mac's, one going back to Mac's childhood as the ambassador's daughter. ACN's video montage of Thomas' career, which had spanned the terms of every U.S. President from John F. Kennedy to Barak Obama, along with Will's voice-over eulogy were instant YouTube hits. Genoa aside, it seemed like Will and Mac and News Night would be riding high forever. 

 

But Genoa wasn't entirely aside. On July 8th, Dantana's lawyer filed his brief under seal for a court order allowing him to question MacKenzie about the events in Kabul. It was so poorly written that Rebecca called Mike Laurance and asked him if he really wanted to do this. Laurance said that he had no choice. Rebecca was confident that she would prevail and be able to protect Mac. Will's agreement that she was probably right notwithstanding, the papers shook him to his core. He tried to convince Mac that there was nothing to be gained from her reviewing them, that Rebecca didn't need her help to respond. "This is about me, Billy," she had said simply and taken them from him, but she'd promised to wait until they got home to look at them. She had been uncharacteristically silent while reading Laurance's brief, and afterwards she had wordlessly crawled into Will's lap and allowed him to kiss away her tears. 

Seeing the paraphrasing and quotations from Hummel's statement down in black and white brought home for Will just how excruciatingly painful it would be for MacKenzie if this were to become public knowledge. And, not just Mac, it would be agony for Ted and Margaret and the rest of her family, for Jim and Sloan, really for anyone who loved her. The more Will thought about it, the more he became convinced that this threat must be neutralized regardless of the cost. The third day after Laurance's papers were filed, he arranged a meeting with Rebecca to be followed the next day by a conference with Leona. For the first time in God knows how long, he lied to Mac about where he was going. 

Rebecca and Will sat in silence while Leona Lansing (who, as CEO of the defendants, was covered by the protective order Rebecca had negotiated with Laurance) read Laurance's description of the information that he sought to elicit from MacKenzie McHale and his argument about why it was relevant to the "institutional failure" at ACN that had allowed the Genoa broadcast to take place. They watched all of the color drain from Leona's face and heard her gasping intake of breath at several places as she read. At one point, she had glanced up at Will, but said nothing. When she was done, she removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dear God," was all she said at first. "How did she survive this?" Then, she looked at Will and asked, "you knew about it?"

"I learned about the baby last November," he replied. "Mac told me the same day that she told me she was pregnant again. The same day she told Rebecca. She said that she'd never told anyone before . . . that she owed it to me to tell me first."

"What about the baby's father?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Lee," Rebecca interrupted. Will had never heard anyone except Charlie speak to Leona Lansing in that tone. "Don't be an idiot. You're looking at him."

"She left you without telling you she was pregnant?"

"No, I left her before she could tell me."

Leona closed her eyes. "Ted and Margaret . . . "

"Don't know anything about it," Will finished. "Very few people do. It's tremendously painful for Mac. God, Lee, you have a son, you can imagine. Actually, she didn't remember much of what happened until recently. She'd suppressed the memory . . . to survive. It came out mostly in nightmares." He paused to emphasize what he was about to say. "Leona, the danger isn't only that Mac might have to testify about this . . . actually I agree with Rebecca's assessment that the court is unlikely to allow it, find it relevant to Genoa . . . the danger is that if Dantana loses his case, he'll exact his revenge on Mac, whom he blames most, by making it public, giving Hummel's statement to TMZ or one of the gossip rags."

"And you have a proposal for neutralizing that danger?"

"Yes." Will took a deep breath. "A settlement that is structured so that it pays Dantana some amount, maybe enough to live on if he's frugal, monthly or quarterly for . . . I don't know . . . the rest of his fucking life, I suppose, with the provision that if the story of our baby's birth and death are ever published anywhere, the payments stop. The only way he could get them to start again would be to get an adjudication by an arbitrator that he had nothing whatsoever to do with the publication." 

"You want to settle with Dantana?" Leona asked incredulously.

"If I can figure out some way to do it without ending my marriage, yes."

"You want to let Jerry Dantana legally extort money from ACN for the rest of his life?"

"No. I want to fucking kill him, Lee, but to date, the possibility of substituting conjugal visits with Mac and my daughter at Attica for our present lives has acted as a deterrent.

"And do you think you can find a way to sell McMac on this settlement idea?"

"Not so far."

"What about . . . Um . . ." Leona looked down at the papers and turned some pages. "Hummel. What's to keep him from selling his story to the highest bidder?"

"I'm willing to make the same fucking deal with him," Will said miserably. "It's just money . . . But the other . . . the other's MacKenzie . . . her life, her peace of mind."

Leona nodded gravely, never taking her eyes off Will as Rebecca spoke for the first time. "I've spoken to Hummel. I don't think he wants to be involved in this mess with Dantana anymore, and is sorry that he ever responded to Jerry's solicitation of information about Mac. It's been years since he gave Dantana the statement and he's never gone to the press. Maybe if he were starving and someone offered him a bundle, but right now, I'd assess the threat level of him selling his story as minimal."

Leona looked back to the pages and thumbed through them to find what she was looking for. Then she looked up with a slightly confused expression, "you said that Jerry Dantana solicited this statement from Hummel, but it's dated September 9, 2010, that's years before Genoa. Why was Dantana interested in McMac back in 2010?"

Will and Rebecca exchanged a quick glance. Will spoke, "Reese was doing opposition research on Mac at the time. I believe that he cast out a wide net within the ACN operation looking for anything he could find about her time in the Middle East. Dantana responded to the call and happened to have Hummel as a contact. Our misfortune."

"Reese has seen this?" Leona asked in a tight stricken voice.

"I don't know. I assume he had possession of Hummel's statement at some point, might still have a copy somewhere, but I suspect from his interactions with Mac and me that he's never read it." Will had pulled his punches not disclosing Nina and the take-down piece. Rebecca glanced at him again when she realized that he was finished.

Leona nodded, obviously relieved. So, relieved in fact that Will doubted that she would pose the next logical question and inquire why Reese had been looking for dirt on Mac in the first place. Maternal love and protection, Will thought, never goes away, and felt a welling up of pain in that instant, although he couldn't fathom why.

Will was right. Leona changed the subject away from her son. "How much danger to MacKenzie of . . . exposure . . . is there at this time? How much time to we have to make a decision on this?" Leona asked. Since she was looking at Rebecca when she spoke, Will let the lawyer give the answers.

"For the time being, we . . . " Rebecca glanced at Will, "I . . . feel that we are reasonably safe. I know that's a relative term, Will, and I know what's at stake," she said holding up a perfectly manicure hand. "However, at the moment, I believe that Mike Laurance is well aware that the Hummel statement would loose all value as settlement leverage if it's contents were made public, and has communicated this strongly to Dantana. Also, the public is so high on the McAvoy's right now, what with the baby coming, and the shooting video and the whole Greater Fools movement, I think that Dantana recognizes that this isn't the time to play his trump card, even if his motivation is purely revenge. 

"Having said that, Dantana's not a well man, and I'm not sanguine that Laurance will ultimately be able to control him, or that Dantana will continue indefinitely to be able to rationally evaluate what is and is not in his best interests."

"They teach you to talk like that in law school?" Leona asked bluntly. Rebecca only smiled.

"Yes. And you pay my firm $1800 an hour for the pleasure of listening to it."

"So, what does it mean?"

"I think we are safe for now. Certainly, we're okay through the hearing on the motion to reopen Mac's deposition." She looked at Will, who nodded in agreement, if a bit grudgingly. 

"Which is when?"

"August 9th," Rebecca and Will said in unison.

"When is the baby due?"

"August 20th," Will replied.

"Jesus," Leona breathed. They left it that Will would develop a strategy to bring Mac around to the view that legalized extortion was better than life with a Sword of Damocles, or "Dantanocles," as Rebecca had called it, hanging over her head, and Rebecca would make some calculations of the present value of various potential payments to Dantana over the next 40 years, to pick a round number. They all parted feeling slightly ill. 

 

Leona got the rest of the story from Reese that night at dinner. He'd not read Hummel's statement, and Leona did not reveal the contents. Reese recalled just that Dantana had told him that it proved that Mac was unstable and had tried to kill herself in the Middle East. He was surprised at the shock and revulsion on his mother's face when he'd said that he'd passed the statement on to Nina Howard, who had agreed to do a take-down piece on MacKenzie for him. He was vaguely aware, and upon reflection, pleased, that it hadn't happened. He assumed that Nina hadn't been able to get sufficient confirmation to run with it. Leona had replied, "since when does Nina Howard require confirmation to run with something," and told him that whatever Nina's reason for not writing an article based on Hummel's statement, ACN had dodged a bullet on that one. She was thinking that had it all come out that way, both Will and Charlie would have likely tendered their resignations in the aftermath. She couldn't bring herself to think about what MacKenzie might have done. Reese only saw her shiver and then change the subject. 

 

The afternoon of Saturday, July 20th, Sloan kidnapped Mac for a "surprise" sleep-over baby shower at Leona's Hampton's house, for which Lee had flown in Margaret and Nessa, Will's sisters, Rosemary and Karen, and niece, Harriet, along with Ellie Diamanté and Melissa Hendrickson. They all partied along with the whole female ACN crowd well into the night and through the next morning. Fully outfitted after the shower, Mac and Will had gotten the little guest room turned into a yellow and white nursery, although they also had an infant sleeper for their bedroom, and a Moses basket for the living room. Will sometimes stood alone in the little nursery trying to believe that in such a short time, his life had gone from lonely, bitter and solitary to overflowing with love, comfort and promise. And, all by the simple expedient of letting go, stopping the paper shredding, or, God help him, the MacKenzie shredding, and doing what he had always fucking wanted to do. "I didn't return it . . . because I'm in love with you . . . ."

Will put off talking to Mac about settling with Dantana. Things were going so well. Mac was still working more or less full time. "Where would I go? What would I do with myself?" she'd asked when Will had suggested beginning maternity leave at 35 weeks. Mac seemed to have plenty of energy, although she wasn't sleeping all that well. However, the reason wasn't nightmares, but the fact that it was hard for her to get comfortable even with the body pillow that Will bought her. Also, Charlotte was proving to be something of a dedicated night owl. "Serves me right for having a child with a guy whose alter ego is an late-night disc jockey called 'the Nightbird,'" Mac had observed dryly. In the last few weeks, Charlie had developed a pattern of getting really active a little before 9:00 (Will learned to ignore the grunts and gasps that frequently escaped from the lips of his EP as the show was wrapping up) and then continuing to push at, butt and kick her mother's internal organs into the wee hours. 

Mac had a check-up with Denise Barrington on July 24th, at which the doctor, or rather the computer on the ultrasound machine, estimated Charlie's weight at 6.2 pounds and her length at 18 inches. "She'll put on another pound or two, most likely, in the next couple, three weeks, and . . ." Denise paused to chuckle at MacKenzie's silent, wide-eyed contemplation of the prospect of expelling 8 pounds of human being from her body, and then continued, "her lungs will continue to mature over that time, but basically, I think, Charlotte's baked to perfection."

 

It was mid-morning on the last Sunday in July, and they were still in bed when Will decided to broach the subject of using money and a contract to extinguish the threat that Dantana would ever sell the Kabul story to the media. They had spent the morning relaxing, eating fruit, granola and yogurt and reading the Sunday Times. He had rubbed her belly with a cream that Dr. Barrington had prescribed to help ease the discomfort of the pregnancy stretching MacKenzie's scars from the knife wound and surgery in Landstuhl. The first time he had done it, he'd mentioned that it was supposed to prevent stretch marks. She'd laughed at him and said that she had these large "hideous scars" on her body already so why would she possibly care about some tiny little stretch marks. It was the first time he'd heard her say anything disparaging like that about her body. It had shaken him a bit to realize that she could think that any part of herself was anything but beautiful. 

He had just made them tomato soup and cheesy toast and been told that "for a Yank," his cheesy toast was "brilliant," when he brought up settling with Dantana. Predictably, MacKenzie stopped eating and reacted with horror that he would even consider such a move.

"Absolutely not, Billy. I do not want you or Leona or ACN or AWM or anyone paying Jerry Dantana a dime to cover up my sins."

"What? What sins? What the fuck are you talking about, Kenz?"

"What sins? Cheating on you with Brian. Not being a responsible adult or a good mother. Not taking care of my unborn baby."

He just stared at her. Was this his doing, he wondered. Had he blamed her for everything so completely and for so long that she had internalized guilt until it was second nature to blame herself? "MacKenzie," he began slowly and as controlled as he could make himself be, putting his hands on her shoulders so that she would look him squarely in the face. "First, about Brian. You were absolutely right about what you said in the Hair and Make-up Room on Election Day. We hadn't made any promises or commitments to each other when you . . .went back to him. I know that I was more in love with you, more sure that I wanted you and only you in those days than you were. I don't know now if I'd even call what you did cheating on me . . . " He heard the surprise in her sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes go wide. "Yes, you lied . . . No, that's not even the right word . . . you hid what you were doing from me, but then, I'm not sure you had any duty of disclosure." She saw his eyes fill with tears. "Kenz, I'm so sorry that I punished you . . . made you think you were a bad person . . . for something that I now see was so inconsequential . . . so fucking irrelevant . . . to our lives." His voice broke and she reached out and took his hand. "Second," he continued, "I can hardly make myself face the cruelty with which I rejected you when you tried to tell me about Brian." She reached up and wiped away a tear that had started down his cheek. He smiled slightly and said, "good thing I have Sloan around to help me with that one. I have been recalling more of that morning . . . I put you in a place where you would have had to have been super-human for your emotions not to have harmed the baby." He lowered his head. "William's death was my doing. If it's anyone's sin that he died, it's mine." He looked up again into her eyes. "You must know this, MacKenzie, you did nothing wrong. You have nothing to feel guilty for." 

She sensed that this wasn't the time to debate the finer points of their respective responsibility for what had happened, so she didn't argue with him. "Even if that's all true," she said, "I don't want you paying Dantana."

"Well," he replied, "we don't have to decide today. "Rebecca doesn't want to broach the subject until after the in camera hearing on the deposition issue. She thinks she's going to win and that the loss will soften him up to accept a reasonable deal."

"No! No, deals, Billy." He just nodded, and thought about his trump card, asking her to imagine what it would be like for her parents or Jules and Nessa and Tommy to learn about William from the pages of "US" magazine. 

"Ok," he said after a pause, "eat your soup and cheesy toast before it gets cold."

She did. Then, when he'd moved the dishes away, she began to kiss him. Hugely pregnant or not, she craved his body like an addictive drug. She wanted to touch every line and every curve, feel every inch of him. She had always needed him like this, she thought, ever since . . . well, ever since the day of the Peabody Awards when she had opened the lid she'd kept on her emotions since Brian had rejected her and allowed the idea that she might actually be in love with Will McAvoy to peek out. Even when she had taken the opportunity with Brian to get "unrejected," as Habib described it, she never really thought about not seeing Will. Now the need and love were different. Always lurking under the thrill of sensation, the warmth of affection was the recollection of the pain, the years of pain, when she believed that she would never feel him under her hands again. Those memories, she decided, were like the yin to the yang of present ecstasy, adding a depth and texture that made the incredible pleasure that their bodies gave each other even more intense. She loved that her mouth could drive him to the edge of control and beyond, that her hands could relieve him, Will McAvoy, no less, of the power of speech and rational thought, and reduce him to begging and whimpering and moaning. But this time she stopped and ignored his cries of protest. Stretching her body out beside him, she kissed his lips.

"Can you kneel? Will it hurt your knees?

"Uh?" he asked thickly, "what?"

"Kneel on the bed," she instructed. As he did, she turned away and said, "now pull me up against you." He reached forward and wrapping his arms under her breasts pulled her into a semi-kneeling position in front of him. Always a quick study, he didn't need to be told what to do next, but he entered her so slowly and carefully that it occasioned a deep throaty laugh from his wife. "You can't hurt me, Billy, and you can't hurt Charlie. Don't be afraid." She began to piston against him in her need, in the drive to satisfy that need. Soon he began to match her motion for motion, thrust for thrust, until he felt her start to lose herself in the pleasure and sensation. He missed seeing her eyes, missed watching that moment when they darkened and lost focus as she neared orgasm. She'd once asked him why he sang "Brown Eyed Girl" to her when her eyes were hazel. "Not before you come," he'd answered. "I know when you are about to reach orgasm because the gold and green leave your eyes and they fill with liquid chocolate. That's when you're my brown eyed girl." Now he couldn't see her eyes, but he still knew it was happening in that moment before he felt her convulse around him and cry out his name. He took her over and then lost himself in release. 

The next day, when Will got a moment alone, he called Denise Barrington and asked her if he should be refraining from sex at this stage of MacKenzie's pregnancy. Is that what she wants to do, the doctor replied with a question. Not at all, he said, it was just that he thought maybe he should be stopping to be sure he didn't hurt her or bring on labor. God, he's a treasure, Barrington thought, and told him that bringing on labor with orgasm was an old wives tale. As long as you don't lie on top of her, the doctor told him joking, and then laughed at his automatic protestation that he'd never do that, it was safe to do anything Mac wanted to do. "The last few weeks can be a bitch, especially in Summer. Feel free to make love to MacKenzie as often as she'll have you. Feel better?" she asked, although she knew the answer. 


	42. A Bad Day for Jerry

Once Rebecca raised the subject, MacKenzie insisted on attending the hearing that would determine whether Dantana's lawyer could question her about her son's birth. She bought a very conservative business maternity dress and jacket to wear along with her 1-inch Manolos to a court session that would be held in the judge's chambers. Will was opposed to her attending and berated Rebecca for suggesting it, at one point expressing anger that the ACN lawyer hadn't discussed the idea with him first. 

"So sorry, I was under the misimpression that you were her husband. I had no idea that she was incapacitated and you'd been appointed her conservator," Rebecca countered, staring him down.

"I'm sorry. Of course, she can make her own decisions . . . I'm just worried. I hate it when she's near Dantana. Especially, now with the birth so close. She hides it but I know she's feeling vulnerable."

They had contingency plans A through H depending when and where MacKenzie went into labor. For a couple of weeks, Elliot had been "on call" always letting someone at ACN know at all times how to get in touch with him. Starting the following week, the last full week before Mac's due date, Elliott would be sitting in on the rundown meetings for News Night, becoming conversant with the script and staying in the studio so that he would be ready if he was needed either to do the show because labor started before Will went on, or if Will was on air when the call came, to be ready to take over after Will made a hasty departure. Mac, who was still producing at least some of the show most nights, found this all a bit much. 

Mac had asked Sloan to go with her and Will to Lamaze classes as "Will's back-up" and then later, to be in the delivery room with them, saying, "remember, Sloan, how I said that I didn't think that I'd ever ask Jim to go through labor with me? Well, that doesn't apply to you." Sloan had been thrilled and then immediately terrified. The Lamaze classes however had proved to be another bonding experience for Sloan and Will, something that they were doing together for Mac, and someplace where Will's complete adoration of his wife was plainly on display. Since the night that Mac had told Sloan about Will's refusing her entreaties to allow her to tell him what had actually happened with Brenner, Sloan had pushed Will to talk about what had been going on for him and why he had treated Mac as he had. Realizing that this was happening and seeing that Will appeared to be benefitting from these conversations, Mac had been encouraging them to go out for a drink after the show, while she napped in Will's office. MacKenzie found that she didn't have a great deal of trouble falling asleep, especially after being on her feet for an hour doing a broadcast. It was staying asleep that Charlie's movements and her whale sized body seemed to prevent. So, taking frequent naps worked out well.

Rivka had told her the week before when she and Avi had come into the city and taken Mac out to lunch, that "the last month is Nature's way of getting you ready for labor. You'll be so uncomfortable by the middle of August, you won't care how painful delivery is going to be." Gesturing to Mac's belly, Rivka smiled at her. "You'll be ready for anything that will get this shit over with." Lovely, Mac had thought. But she couldn't help noticing that as Rivka'd said all of this, she'd been handing Cherrios to Avi, which he had been stuffing into his cherubic cheeks as his mother looked on indulgently. 

 

After Will and Mac returned from Northwestern, she had talked to both Dr. Habib and Rosemary Wilson about her anger at Will's mother, and her feeling that she couldn't discuss her emotions about Elizabeth McAvoy with Will.

"Having trouble worshiping at the feet of St. Elizabeth the Martyr, are we?" Rosemary had asked with a laugh. "I know that he's naming the baby for her. We did manage to talk about that, but Will and I stopped trying to discuss our mother years ago." Mac said she would like to know what Will's mother had really been like, and Rosemary proceeded to describe for MacKenzie the nuanced, weak and flawed woman who had given life to Will McAvoy. "I think, that he needs to remember someone, some adult, being good and kind in his childhood, and she's as close as it gets. But she sold him out, you're absolutely right, Mac. He just can't bring himself to see it."

"He idealizes women, in case you haven't noticed," Dr. Habib said after Mac had related her conversation with Rosemary. 

"Really? Is that what it's called? I had no idea." Although Habib had laughed at words she obviously intended to be amusing, for some reason that MacKenzie couldn't identify, she felt angry and upset.

Seeing her face, Habib continued, "he brutalized you. I know. But I don't have to tell the former President of the Cambridge Union that brutalizing is the flip side of idealizing. Why do you think he can't see his mother as she was?

"Because of the reasons Rosemary gave? He needs some adult in his life, one of his parents, to have been good and kind."

"I imagine she was good and kind to him some of the time."

"But she failed to protect him from the beatings and the verbal abuse."

"Yes. And how does it feel when someone is good and kind to you one moment and then allows you to be horribly hurt the next?" They sat in silence for a long time while Mac contemplated the thought of Will being subjected to that kind of abuse. Finally it came to her and she looked up into Habib waiting eyes.

"Like you've been betrayed," she'd whispered.

"And since he can't let himself experience his mother's betrayal, he covers it with a construct that she was perfect . . . But he's still perpetually on the look out for betrayal . . . Even when it's not there."

"You're saying that his experience of her betrayal came out indirectly? With me? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," Habib replied. "All it took was the idea that you were less than perfect to make him think or feel that you had betrayed him too, although the 'too' part was obviously subconscious. In that moment, I think that a lifetime's worth of suppressed pain and anger rose up . . . the monster, you talk about . . . and Will became the man who had learned early the lesson that no one can be trusted and everyone will hurt him in the end. The only way to be sure that there would be no pain was to . . . . "

". . . be alone," MacKenzie finished the thought for the doctor. "And so he cast me out . . . banished and demonized . . . and kept me away."

"Yes. He doesn't see this, Mac. He can't until he can face who his mother really was. And it may take a very long time and a lot of work before he does." 

 

The morning of the hearing, August 9, 2013, was stifling. The worst that the combination that Summertime and New York City could produce, unrelenting heat and sky-high humidity. Lonny, now AWM's Assistant VP of Security, insisted on driving Mac and Rebecca to court. Will came along "to keep Lonny company while he waits." But everyone knew the real reason he was there. As Mac's due date got closer, Will couldn't stand to have have her out of his sight for more than a minute. He'd actually followed her into the ladies' bathroom a couple of times. Mac suspected that Lonny had come up with the whole driving business as a way to keep Will with him and as close by her as was possible. 

Lonny got them to court with plenty of time so that Mac didn't have to try to walk quickly or feel rushed. Will kissed her twice before he would let her out of the car, and Rebecca had squeezed his hand and mouthed, "I'll take care of her." Will needn't have worried. This was one time that despite being encased in a body that felt like it had been taken over by an alien, MacKenzie McHale McAvoy was not feeling vulnerable. In fact, she was loaded for bear. Turning to glance one last time at the departing AWM limo, she walked into the federal courthouse with her back straight and her head high. 

They entered into the empty courtroom early and Rebecca signed in with the courtroom clerk. The clerk, a young woman who looked to be about thirty, smiled shyly at MacKenzie. When Mac returned the smile, the clerk proceeded to look both ways as if she were crossing a street, and finding no one nearby, she began to tell MacKenzie that she watched News Night every night and was so glad that Mac had recovered from the shooting and that the baby was okay and that the video of Will crawling through the shattered glass to get to her was just "awesome." Just as she finished, Jerry Dantana and Mike Laurance entered the courtroom cutting off any reply that MacKenzie might had given. The clerk quickly looked down, suddenly engrossed in paperwork. Both Dantana and Laurance seemed surprised to see MacKenzie. Rebecca couldn't discern whether it was simply Mac's presence or her obviously advanced pregnancy or both that unnerved them. Mac and Rebecca shook hands with Laurance and nodded to Dantana who seemed to be hiding behind his attorney and did not come forward to join in the handshake. His hair was long and in need of a shaping and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. His eyes seemed to dart around the room to a degree that made Rebecca wonder if he was on speed or some other illegal drug. All in all, he looked far more on the edge and less in control than he had at the deposition, and Rebecca was glad that Will was not there to see him. 

A few minutes later a door behind and to the right of the empty bench opened and a young man who Rebecca assumed from his age and demeanor was a Law Clerk emerged and asked who was here on "Dantana v. ACN." When they identified themselves, he asked them to follow him back to the judges's chambers. They walked down a corridor, through an outer office that held a secretary and two other young people, all of whom stopped what they were doing to watch the group pass by, and into a spacious inner office that held a large desk, desk chairs, sofa and small conference table. Seated at the head of the table was the judge and beside him a court reporter. The judge rose as they entered and walked toward them. He extended his hand to Rebecca and Mike Laurance, then to Dantana, who had the presence of mind to shake it, and finally to MacKenzie. The smile that Mac aimed at United States District Judge Harvey Wilstern would have lit up the night sky. That's my girl, Rebecca thought.

"Mrs. McAvoy," he said, beaming back at her, "it's a pleasure to see you again. I trust you are fully recovered."

"Yes, Your Honor, I'm fine. Thank you for asking." 

"Won't you have a seat?" Mac nodded and sat down in the empty chair to the right of the judge's chair. Laurance watched the conversation, looking like he was going to be ill. When they all had seated themselves, Rebecca beside Mac and Laurance and Dantana on the other side of the table, the judge began with his proposed "ground rules" for the hearing. Due to the "extremely personal and sensitive nature of the subject matter," he proposed that they open the hearing on the record and then excuse the reporter until he was prepared to rule, at which time she would be called back to record the court's decision. Rebecca agreed immediately, and Laurance after conferring with his client, agreed more reluctantly. And so they began. 

But, when Laurance opened his mouth to begin his argument, Judge Wilstern raised a hand and interrupted him. "Mr. Laurance, I have read your briefs closely and we are not on the record here. I don't believe that there is anything to be gained by your arguing orally the points that you make in your papers. So, let's cut to the chase, shall we. Assuming, as Ms. Halliday has been willing to do, that Ms. McHale was incapacitated by grief on June 6, 2007, and took no action to obtain medical assistance to stop her bleeding, what evidence do you have that those events affected any aspect of the decision making that resulted in the airing by ACN of the Genoa report?" There followed a long debate between Laurance and the judge, in which the judge kept pointing out that everything that Laurance was arguing, which was really one thing, PTSD, over and over in different forms, was an "inference you want to draw from the bare facts of the events in Kabul." Over and over, the judge said, "give me a different fact that corroborates in any way, the inference that the failure to uncover the flaws in the Genoa report was connected to the fact that Ms. McHale did not call for help when she was hemorrhaging five years before." 

Rebecca never said a word. MacKenzie simply looked on with placid interest. Jerry Dantana began to squirm in his seat. Then, he started to try to get Laurance's attention, finally he was stage whispering, the words, "She wanted to get back at McAvoy. She wanted to get back at McAvoy" over and over. 

The judge glanced at MacKenzie, whose expression had not changed, and said, "yes, Mr. Dantana, is there something that you would like to say?"

"No, Your Honor, my client . . . ." Laurance started to respond to the question when Dantana cut him off.

"Yes! Yes, there is." Laurance went red in the face, but seemed to realize that he could only compound his problems by having a disagreement with his client in front of the court, even in an informal setting such as this. Rebecca's heart went out to him just a bit. He couldn't have known what he was getting into by taking on Jerry Dantana as a client. Then the thought that maybe Laurance would snap and help Will out by strangling Jerry to death before all this was over crossed her mind and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Jerry started in on his theory that MacKenzie secretly hated Will McAvoy for rejecting her and that he, Jerry, was the victim of a diabolical plot to ruin Will's reputation and discredit News Night. 

"Mr. Dantana, do you have any evidence to back up what you are suggesting?" the judge asked. "Because I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest to you that the observable evidence . . . " here, he actually glanced in the direction of Mac's torso, " . . . is that the McAvoy's have patched up whatever differences they might have had in 2007."

"The marriage is a sham. They only got married so they wouldn't have to testify against each other about Genoa."

"There is no spousal privilege in civil cases, as I'm quite sure Ms. Halliday would have informed them, assuming that Mr. McAvoy has forgotten the rules of evidence, which, given his reputation as a prosecutor, I highly doubt."

"We don't even know that this baby is McAvoy's!" Dantana shouted. Mac's face registered shock, as she thought, my God, he's having a breakdown in front of our eyes.

"Enough!" Judge Wilstern bellowed back, and lacking a gavel, brought the flat of his hand forcefully down on the table. "That will be quite enough!" Everyone jumped, and Jerry appeared to be stunned into silence. "Ms. Halliday," as if flipping a switch, the judge turned his attention to Rebecca and asked calmly, "do you have anything that you wish to say?"

Laurance clamped his hand around his client's forearm to stop him from interrupting, and Rebecca smiled sweetly and said, "I believe, Your Honor that my clients' position has been fully presented in our brief, so if you have no questions for me, I have nothing to add."

"Then, I am prepared to rule on this issue. Let's get the court reporter back in here," Judge Wilstern said as he rose and walked to the door. "Carrie!" he called, sticking his head out the door, "we need you." A moment later, the young court reporter walked back in and took her seat by her computer and stenographic equipment. As the judge began to speak, she started to press various combinations of keys.

"On the question of whether the plaintiff may question MacKenzie McHale regarding certain events that occurred in Kabul, Afghanistan, on or about June 6, 2007, it is the determination of the court that the plaintiff has not made a showing that either these events are relevant and material to an issue in this lawsuit, or that discovery into these events would lead to evidence that is relevant and material to any such issue sufficient to outweigh Ms. McHale's right to be protected during the discovery process from annoyance, embarrassment, oppression and undue burden. These events are extremely personal and painful, and are not something about which a . . . mother . . . should be required to discuss with strangers except upon a showing of both relevance and materiality. Mr. Laurance," he turned to Dantana's counsel, "should evidence come to light as this case progresses that demonstrates the relevance or materiality of the events in Kabul to an issue in the litigation, the court will certainly be willing to revisit this question. For now, however, the court grants the defendants' cross-motion for a protective order and denies the plaintiff's motion to compel Ms. McHale's testimony." Now, he looked at Rebecca, "will your office please prepare a proposed form of order that incorporates my ruling?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Alright, then, I believe we are adjourned."

Dantana jumped up from the table and wordlessly fled the room. Dear God, Rebecca thought, a cold fear gripping her heart, he's far less under control than she'd been assuming. Laurance watched the judge's eyes follow his client out the door, but made no move to leave himself. Instead, he shook the judge's hand and engaged in a conversation with Rebecca about when she would send him a draft of the proposed order to review. While they talked, Judge Wilstern turned to MacKenzie.

"Mrs. McAvoy, please accept my . . . " Mac wondered incredulously if he was actually going to say "apologies," but then he said something that shocked her more, ". . . condolences on the loss of your son. It was a long time ago, but I know . . . well . . . " he cleared his throat and seemed to decide to reverse course. "When is your daughter due?"

"On the 20th."

"Of August?" He suddenly looked at her like she was a volcano set to blow.

"Yes," MacKenzie chuckled, "of August."

"I have three daughters. You can tell your husband that I agree with him totally, little girls are the best."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Mac took his proffered hand and smiled sweetly, "I certainly will."

In truth, Jerry Dantana's demeanor and lack of self-control had scared MacKenzie as much or more than it had Rebecca. The thought that this madman knew about William, well, not about William exactly, but about what Dantana thought was the stillbirth of her baby in Kabul made her blood run cold. She could feel the attack coming on and told Rebecca with what she thought was a passable smile that she needed to use the restroom. In the stall, Mac fought the nausea the threatened to overwhelm her and tried to slow her heart rate and her breathing. Since the shooting, the rapid breathing that had always accompanied a panic attack was now made worse by a constricted feeling in Mac's lungs and she reached in the side pocket of her bag and got out the rescue inhaler. She removed her jacket as sweat poured in rivulets down her back and across her forehead. She used the inhaler and tried putting her head between her legs as her vision yellowed and her ears rang, but Charlie made that nearly impossible. Dantana would hurt her somehow she was sure. Given the chance, he would take vengeance on her or on Will. The prospect was terrifying.

She heard the door open and then Rebecca's voice, "Mac, are you alright?"

Shit! Shit! "Yes, I'm fine," MacKenzie tried to say in as normal a voice as possible.

"Okay," Rebecca said as if she had some doubt and leaned on the sink to wait. She looked at her watch. Three minutes had passed and Mac had not emerged. "MacKenzie, what's going on? Are you having pain? Are you okay?" The concern in Rebecca's voice was evident.

God! Why since she'd become pregnant did everyone treat her like she was a child or some sort of mental defective? Suddenly, Mac felt furious, furious at Dantana for giving her a fright, furious at herself, just fucking furious. "I said I was bleeding okay. Sod off, Rebecca." The voice from behind the stall door sounded angry but a little more normal to Rebecca's relief.

"Well, if you're going to insult me from the other side of the pond . . . "

Just as quickly as the fury had risen up, it broke and was swept away. "I'm sorry . . . " Mac said in a small childlike voice.

"Mac would you open the door and let me help you?"

"Have you called Lonny to come and get us?" Mac asked as she reached up and unlocked the stall door.

"Not yet. What's going on? You were great in there. What's the matter?" Some of it Rebecca suspected was simply the cost of having held everything together so well during the hearing. 

Mac looked up at her. "Dantana's losing it. His eyes . . . when he looked at me. He's going to try to hurt me . . . hurt us. I got scared and then I stared to panic." MacKenzie looked so young and vulnerable it brought tears to the lawyer's eyes.

"Oh, baby, come here," Rebecca crooned wrapping her arms around the seated woman and cradling Mac's head against her breast. "He's not going to hurt you. We're not going to let him hurt you." At the reference to "we," Mac's eyes grew big as saucers.

"Rebecca! You can't tell Billy . . . Will . . . about this! Please? Please, say you won't? He can't know that I was upset even for a moment. He already wants to buy Dantana off, but I guess you know that."

"It's an idea worth considering, MacKenzie." Mac shook her head. "Okay. Let's make a deal. I won't breathe a word to Will about Dantana spooking you . . . "

"Or that he's cracking," Mac interrupted.

"Or that he's cracking," Rebecca repeated, "if you promise that you will at least consider the benefits of buying his silence about the baby. Deal?"

Mac nodded, and half-heartedly whispered, "deal."

"Okay, I'm going to call Lonny and Will and tell them we are out."

Will congratulated Rebecca on her victory and listened to her description of how the woman in his arms had been "spectacular" during the hearing. Mac passed on the judge's statement that he agreed with Will that daughters were great, which caused Rebecca to observe that "now we know he watches News Night" and rolled her eyes and called Mac "her secret weapon." 

"I also think he had a child once who was stillborn or miscarried," Mac observed and repeated the exchange in which he'd offered her his condolences. That statement reminded Will of how difficult this must have been for his wife, and he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss into her hair. When he opened them again, he caught something unsettling in Rebecca's look.

"So, we're safe?" he asked to the lawyer. "Mac won't have to testify about Kabul?"

"Mac won't have to testify about Kabul," Rebecca replied and raised an imaginary class in toast.

Will responded by "clinking" his imaginary glass to hers, but it was not lost on him that she had not agreed that they were safe.


	43. On The Air

August 20, 2013, came and went with no sign that Charlotte was considering trading her cosy domicile inside MacKenzie for life in the big bad world. "Well, I guess she wants to be a Virgo," Will observed as August 22nd came to a close. On the morning of the 23rd, Mac lay on the table in Danny's examining room, surrounded by Will, Danny and Denise Barrington. The ultrasound examination that Danny had just conducted estimated the baby's weight at a little under 8 pounds and her length at 20 inches. Danny and Denise were consulting about whether to give Charlie more time to move on her own or whether they should take steps to "evict her." 

"You're not talking about doing a c-section, are you?" Mac asked with obvious concern.

"No," Dr. Barrington replied, "more like jumping jacks and a pitocin drip." 

In the end, the decision was made to leave things up to Charlotte for a little while longer. While Danny talked to MacKenzie, Denise took Will aside and told him, "don't try to keep Mac down. Let her work, make her walk, fuck her brains out. This kid is getting big and I'd like to see her out of there in the next five days."

There were already a large number of losers in the "Little Charlie's Birthday" office pool. Leona was still alive, as were Kendra, Reese, Sloan, Jim, Maggie, Sorority Girl and Neal. "How did you all know to bet on her being late?" Mac asked, and almost everyone, except Kendra who had kids of her own, had responded with some version of the answer that they had been advised by their mothers that first babies are frequently late. There were also pools betting on whether Mac would be in the studio when labor started, whether Will would be on the air, and one on how many hours her labor would last. Mac had made an indecipherable sound that was somewhere between a screech and a moan when she'd heard about that one. 

Mac was skyping daily with her own mother, who was planning to come over for a few days right after Charlotte was born. As time wore on Margaret started giving Mac, and sometimes Will, various British folk remedies for bringing on labor. When she told Will that one of the women in the village had said that stimulating the mother's nipples could help, and Will had asked whether she meant rubbing or sucking, Mac said that she'd had enough. "I can't believe that my own mother just told my husband to suck my breasts!"

"Not your breasts, dear, only your nipples. Why, darling? Doesn't he usually do that sort of thing?" Lady Margaret had responded sedately. It was all Will could do not to roar with laughter. What a woman! No wonder she'd raised a daughter like MacKenzie. 

Mac had taken to spending a reasonable amount of her time producing in the control room leaning forward on the console, with her forearms supporting a good deal of her weight. At first, Jim and Don and a number of the other guys had found it disconcerting and kept asking her if she was okay (which was fast getting to be her least favorite question), but eventually they all adjusted and were taking it in stride. The position, Mac found, took a lot of the pressure off of her back, which tired easily and ached frequently. 

And so, it didn't surprise anyone when on the evening of August 30, 2013, Mac started giving Will his cues bent over on the control room console. The show was going well. There was a segment on the escalating threats by the U.S. to take military action in Syria, which Mac had managed to get through with no problem despite the fact that her back felt more strained than usual. Then she got to sit down while Jim took Will through the IRS's decision to treat same-sex married couples the same as heterosexual married couples. When they cut to a commercial, she got up to get ready for a segment on the NFL's $765 million settlement of the litigation brought on behalf of thousands of former players who had suffered head trauma and brain injuries which they alleged were not appropriately treated by the league team physicians. Mac leaned over the console like usual, but this time, it gave her little relief. God, her back ached. Worse, it seemed, than it had ever before, even when she'd been standing for a long time. 

"Okay, Billy," she said into her microphone, "we're back in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1." As Will began speaking about the settlement, Mac straightened up and put both of her hands to the small of her back, and gave a low but audible moan. Will's expression changed ever so slightly, and his speech skipped half a beat, but it was enough for Mac to realize that every cell in his body had just gone on high alert. "It's okay, Will. Sorry. My back's just aching," she said in his ear. "All's well." 

But slowly, she began to realize that this backache was different. The pain was more centralized in her lower spine and more intense than any other she could remember. No, that's not true, she thought. She could remember. It was exactly like the backache in her nightmares . . . the backache in Kabul. She felt a slight sense of panic welling up and fought to control her breathing. This isn't Kabul, she reminded herself. She wasn't alone. Will would be with her. Everything was different. This time everything would be alright. Her baby would live. Another twinge and she had no doubt that Charlotte had finally decided to make her appearance. Okay, Mac thought, we're ready. She would get through the show and then call Danny and Denise and of course, tell Will. 

Will finished the segment on the NFL litigation, his interview with a specialist on concussions and used the graphic on the appropriate treatment of head injuries for both professional and student athletes. He was just about to open his mouth to report on the discovery of a giant ice canyon in Greenland, also a segment Mac was producing, when the pain gathered in Mac's back so intensely that she grunted involuntarily. A couple of the guys looked over at her suspiciously, but Will carried on as if he hadn't noticed. He did look a bit more intensely into camera one when she couldn't keep the strain out of her voice as she cued him for the video, but since he was on air, he just kept on going. As he was finishing up on Greenland, the back pain surged again, and a grunt escaped her lips. Again, she saw concern register ever so slightly on Will's face. When he had finished talking and a video was playing a few seconds later, Mac said softly, "Billy, you don't have to do anything special, you can finish up the show, but you should know to ignore the sound effects in your ear. I'm pretty sure I'm in the early stages of labor."

"Jesus, Mac!" The voice was Jim's who she had forgotten was standing close beside her. 

"I'm okay. Really. I just . . . " That time the pain, still in her back was intense enough to stop her momentarily from continuing to speak and produce a slight breathy whine. 

Okay, Will thought, enough already, and when the video concluded, he looked into camera one. "As most of you know, this earpiece that I wear connects me to my control room, and specifically to the voice of the producer of whatever news report I am currently giving you . . . . "

"What's he doing?" MacKenzie gasped out, realizing that Will had just abandoned the script.

"Coming to get you," Jim replied.

"Most of the time the voice in my ear belongs to my wife and Executive Producer, MacKenzie McHale. Tonight is no different in that regard. But it is different in this one. I just heard her tell me that our daughter is getting ready to be born. Now since we've been waiting for this day for about nine months, we have a contingency plan in place. When I finish talking, we will cut to a financial report from Sloan Sabbith, and when Sloan's report concludes, Elliot Hirsch should be here at the news desk taking over for me, a favor that he will continue to do for the next week. So, folks, Mac and I are off to have a baby. Wish us well, and thank you." And with that, Will disconnected his ear piece and stood up from the desk.

He had gotten no farther than a couple of feet out of camera range when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Will pulled it out and looked at the display, which said, "Dan Shivitz mobile." Will tapped the answer icon and put it to his ear. "Hey, Dan," he said, continuing to walk toward the control room, "you must be watching News Night. No, I haven't even had the chance to get to her yet. I'll call you back. Okay, call Denise. See you in a bit."

Lonny had insisted that he would drive Will and Mac to the hospital, so Will wasn't surprised when a few seconds after he'd hung up with Shivitz, his phone vibrated again and it was the Security VP. He told Lonny essentially the same thing he'd told Dan - that he was still on his way to the control room and he'd call back. 

When Will entered the control room, Jim had the headset on and was giving Sloan her cue on some graphic that was just going up on monitor 2 at the news desk. Mac was sitting in a chair watching with Don hovering over her. 

"Hey, there, Kenz," Will said softly, walking up and running his hand gently down the side of her face.

"We could have finished the show."

"Maybe. But I didn't want to. Besides, we've had this fire drill ready with Elliot so we might as well use it."

As if conjured up by the sound of his name, Elliot Hirsch entered the control room. He walked up to MacKenzie and Will, and bending down, kissed Mac on the cheek. "Good luck," he said. "Don't worry about a thing. Jim, Don and I will take good care of News Night." Then he turned to Will and clapping him on the back, said, "ice chips."

"What?"

"Ice chips. Remember to give her plenty of ice chips in between contractions. They really help." Then he started out the door to get to the desk before Sloan finished up. "Have fun, you two," he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, right . . . " Whatever else Mac intended to say was swallowed up in another concentration of pain in her lower back. "Uh . . . oh," she said instead.

"What, sweetheart?"

"Just my back," she said, and then more softly so only Will could hear. "It always seems to start with my back." Will nodded. Kabul, he thought. Then he prayed, please God, let her get through this without being haunted by what happened in Kabul. Let us both get through this without thinking about it too much. He pulled out his phone, called Lonny and arranged to meet him in the underground garage. 

"What do you need from your office?" He turned his attention back to his wife.

"Only my purse. And, oh, my glasses. They're on my desk."

"Okay. You stay here. I'll be right back."

When Will returned to the control room, he saw that Elliot was on the desk, and Sloan and Charlie Skinner were with MacKenzie. As he walked toward them, Charlie helped Mac to her feet. He held her for a moment and kissed her forehead. "You're going to do just fine. And when it's over, you'll have a little girl who's going to be as beautiful as you are. You're going to be a great mother." Then he turned to Will. "Take good care of our girl," he instructed. "And keep us posted."

"Count on it," Will replied, and supporting Mac on one side, with Sloan on the other, the three of them walked to the elevator. 

Lonny drove them home first so that Will could get the bags that he and Mac had packed a week or so ago for the hospital. From the car while they waited, Mac spoke to both Danny and Denise Barrington. Mac contended that she wasn't really having contractions yet, just back pain, and it was too early to go to the hospital, but Danny insisted that the VIP birthing suites at Beth Israel had all of the comforts of home and coming in now would spare them the potential of a cab ride when she was really uncomfortable.

"Uncomfortable?" Mac had echoed.

"Yes," Danny replied, "that's OB-GYN speak for in screamin' fuckin' agony."

"Thanks. Glad to get that straight."

They were going to be put into the same room where Mac had recovered from the gunshot wound for the same reason, it was the largest and most luxurious. "Just said the magic words," Dan Shivitz told her over the phone.

"Please and thank you," Mac teased back.

"No, Leona Lansing."

They arrived at the hospital. Lonny gave Mac a tender hug and kiss on her cheek as he left them at the entrance and joined the growing list of people whom Will had promised to call when there was news. Several of the nurses who had taken care of Mac after the shooting stopped by to see her and wish her well as soon as word spread through the hospital that McHale and McAvoy had checked into Maternity. This seemed to distract her from the back pain, which Will assumed was a good thing. Finally, the obstetrical nurse assigned to Mac's case shooed her colleagues away, and asked Mac if she would like to soak in the jetted tub in the bathroom for a while. When Mac agreed, Sloan, who had skipped dinner, decided to take the opportunity to go and get something to eat. Since the tub was large enough for two people, the nurse suggested that Will get in with his wife. To Mac's surprise, he produced a pair of swim trunks from his bag of clothes.

"How did you know to bring those?" she asked, and then answered her own question, saying, "Danny."

"Yep."

In the tub, MacKenzie let herself float naked in the warm water. The bathroom lights were on a rheostat switch, which Mac found ridiculously decadent, although she had to admit the dim lights and the warm water were restful. Will plugged his iPod into the suite's sound system, and surprised his wife with a playlist that the Nightbird had put together especially for the occasion. When he climbed into the tub and drew her naked body against him, she let out a relaxed sigh. For reasons Mac couldn't fathom, Will loved this bulky and alien shape into which she had mutated. It actually turned him on. While she thought it was mental, it was an illness for which she was nothing but thankful. He rubbed his hands slowly, methodically and repeatedly over her swollen belly and down her sides and thighs, smoothing away some of the ache. No, she thought lazily, this certainly wasn't Kabul. She wasn't going to think about Kabul.

The nurse gave Will a small digital clock with which to time the contractions that MacKenzie was insisting hadn't really started yet. He noticed that about every twelve to fifteen minutes, Mac's breathing became more rapid and she complained that her back hurt worse. He mentioned it when the nurse came in to check on them, but she just nodded and smiled, so he figured it was normal. After they had been in the tub long enough to have rewarmed the water twice and for their finger tips and toes to have shriveled up like prunes, the nurse came in to announce that Dr. Shivitz had arrived to examine Mrs. McAvoy. They got out and dried off, and Mac put on one of his old Cornhusker t-shirts while he pulled on an ACN one and a pair of jeans. 

"A little progress." Danny pronounced, examining Mac, as Will stood by with such an expectant look on his face it made Shivitz smile. "But I hope we all know we are here for a long haul. You are starting to dilate, Mac, but it's going to be a while. At least Denise will be happy. I guess she told you that she has another patient in labor, but way ahead of you. She can't get here until after that baby is delivered, and she'll be really upset if she misses seeing Charlie born. But I think she'll have plenty of time to get here from Columbia. Let's check Charlie's position," he finished, turning to the ultrasound machine that a nurse had wheeled into the room. 

The ultrasound examination confirmed that Charlotte had dropped "perfectly," head down and facing Mac's spine. "Barring something totally unforeseen, she should slide right out when the time comes." He turned off the machine and wiped the gel off Mac's belly. Then he got up and walked to where Mac's head lay against the pillows on the king sized bed. Cupping Mac's chin so tenderly that for a moment Will actually thought that Danny was going to bend down and kiss her lips, he said, "it's going to be textbook perfect this time, MacKenzie. A few contractions, a little pushing, and, voila, Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy, large and in charge." He smiled into her eyes, and held them for a long moment until she blinked rapidly and nodded in agreement. "Why don't you pull on some pants, Mac," he concluded, clearing his throat, "and we'll all go for a walk?"

Danny, Mac, Will and Sloan walked around the floor and then down in the elevator and out into the hospital's small garden. Mack stopped a couple of times to let the pain pass, and noticed that both Will and Danny were glancing at their watches each time that she did. They walked around the garden twice and then back through the cafeteria and to the elevator for the ride back to the maternity floor. Mac offered, half in jest, to take the stairs. She was tired when she got back to the room and Dan suggested that she stretch out on the bed with Will, have him massage her back, and see if she could sleep for a little while. Although Mac dismissed the idea as ludicrous, it worked. Within about 15 minutes, she was asleep. 

"Dan," Will asked after making sure that his wife was actually asleep, "are you here because you have concerns about labor . . . that she could start bleeding again because of . . . what happened in Kabul? I've never really known exactly what you did to fix her up, or whether there could be . . . you know . . . problems this time because of it." 

"No," Shivitz said. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. I'm just here 'cause . . . it's Mac." He gave a helpless gesture. 

Will looked at Shivitz and contemplated their strange relationship. There was both a closeness that he shared with few people other than Sloan and Charlie, and a distance that he suspected was born of Danny's still lingering resentment of his treatment of Mac almost seven years ago now. They hadn't spoken much about those days with the exception of a time about a month before when they had been having a beer in a suburban shopping mall in Connecticut while waiting for Mac and Rivka to finish up some "baby shopping." Perhaps it was a result of the alcohol loosening his tongue, or maybe, it had built up to where Dan just couldn't ignore the question any longer, but out of the blue, he'd turned to Will and asked, "you were basically living with Mac when you guys broke up, right?"

"Yes," Will had replied warily.

"And she was about eight weeks pregnant, right?"

"Yes." Will fought down the part of him that wanted to get defensive and tell Shivitz that this was none of his goddamned business. 

"I'm sorry," Shivitz started to apologize, "this is really none of my business, but I . . . I don't understand . . . How the hell could you not have realized you were living with a pregnant woman? Mac said you had it figured out this time almost from day one."

Will had sat deathly still, pondering how to answer, whether to answer. He thought again of what he knew back then. He knew that she was changing birth control and they were supposed to use a condom, and he knew they were not . . . Hell, the truth was that he chose not to be careful. Finally, he took a deep breath. "I suspected. In fact . . . " Will ran his hands through his hair, and looked across the table at Shivitz. "It made it worse. I don't know why or how I could doubt everything I'd been experiencing with Mac for a year, more than a year, but I did. In that instant when I interrupted her and asked her if she'd slept with Brenner, I thought . . . I thought . . . " as Will tried to force himself to put what had happened into words, he saw comprehension and then compassion filling Shivitz' dark brown eyes.

"You thought it was Brenner's?" Will nodded. "Does Mac know this?"

"No. I can't see how it would do anything but hurt her more than I already have." Will replied miserably.

"Yeah, maybe it's best that she doesn't know. What a fucking tragedy." Shivitz shook his head. "For both of you. But you have been given a great opportunity to make it all right. A lot of people never get a second chance, you know."

"I know. I know. And, I'm not going to fuck it up this time."

I'm not going to fuck it up this time, Will thought, as he looked over at Sloan, who was reading a magazine, and Danny, who was reading email on his phone, and then down at Mac, who was just beginning to stir beside him. Suddenly, Will felt something damp on the bed.

"Danny! I think Mac's . . . ." Before Will could finish, Shivitz was on his feet and moving toward MacKenzie. He had just started to gently move her to check when her eyes came open and quickly grew large with surprise. She curled onto her side and grabbed ahold of Will by inserting each of her index fingers into one of the front belt loops of his jeans. As a sound halfway between a screech and a moan came from her throat, she pulled him toward her and pushed the top of her head into Will's diaphragm. 

Dan watched her with a small smile curling the edges of his lips, and then looked at his watch. Three minutes to 2:00 AM on August 31, 2013. "Okay, guys," he said as Mac relaxed and panted in relief when the contraction ended, "it's show time!"


	44. Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan, 7lbs. 13 oz., 21 Inches

"Ice chips? Could we please get some ice chips?" Will asked the nurse, suddenly remembering Elliot's advice. It was about an hour after Mac's water broke and the contractions began to strengthen. But so far, they hadn't been too bad (what a way to define, too bad, Will had thought as Danny said it) and Mac had been able to move around, talk and laugh between them. But Will assumed that Elliot knew what he was talking about, seeing as how Elliot had done this twice. Twice! My God, how does anyone do this twice? Will was worried about surviving it once and it had barely started. Then, he remembered that Mac had made a couple of references to them having another baby, a sibling for Charlie, sometime in the future. Fuck, why would Mac want to do this again, he wondered. It was early yet, Danny had warned them, but the contractions were clearly getting to be more painful. 

Sloan, the official timer, ("you're good with numbers," Dan had said when making the assignment) had announced a few minutes before that Mac's last two contractions were "about 9 minutes, 28 seconds" apart. 

"About," Dan had joked, "by all means, let's not get too precise here." 

While gently wiping sweat off of his wife's forehead and upper lip with a cool damp cloth, the realization hit Will full force that this was "again" for her. MacKenzie had been in this kind of pain before. She had chewed through a pillow the last time trying to muffle her screams. She had dialed a phone again and again in place of . . . . He looked down to where his hand covered hers, and wondered why God didn't just strike him dead for what he'd done to her. Because that would punish Mac. No, to punish him . . . . Suddenly, Will was frozen, overcome by a cold gripping terror that his life was on a path to Devine retribution. He had been given back MacKenzie and now was being given Charlotte so that they both could be taken from him . . . a plane crash or car accident . . . so that he could know the tortures of the damned, the kind of total despair and unremitting pain that he had caused his wife. His guilt had never before produced this particular thought, but now that it had, it seemed . . . he didn't know exactly . . . inevitable . . . as if he had figured out the riddle of why he was so blessed. He felt nauseous and shaky and knew he'd started breathing through his mouth. 

"Billy?" Mac, on her elbows and knees on the bed, was between contractions and looking at him quizzically. "Are you okay?" Now concern flooded her features. "Your hand's gone cold and you're pale?"

"Yeah, bro." Sloan agreed. "What's up?"

Christ, he thought, I've got to get a grip! "I'm fine," he managed to say, although he didn't sound very convincing, even to himself. He needed a minute without Kenz and Sloan staring at him. "I'm going to go look for those ice chips, okay?" he asked.

"Sure," Mac replied matter-of-factly. "I think there's time before the next big one." He recognized that tone. He had watched her practice and hone it for two and a half years as a defense against . . . him . . . his women . . . Jesus! Nina . . . his reminders, constant reminders that she was guilty, not to be trusted . . . "They fucked up, Mac! They trusted you!" He nodded and bolted for the door.

"What's that about?" Sloan asked, gesturing to the door and stepping over to lightly massage MacKenzie's back the way Shivitz had shown her. Mac's backache remained rather constant, but since every nine minutes or so it was eclipsed by an attention-getting, searing pain that rolled through her sides and abdomen, she hardly noticed it anymore. Proves everything is relative, Mac thought. 

She sighed. "My guess? Kabul." 

"Oh, fuck," Sloan said softly. "You mean like he's getting to see what you went through, and he's guilty 'cause he wasn't there."

"Something like that." Now that Will was gone, Mac was obviously worried and disturbed.

Dr. Shivitz, who'd been coming in and out of the room, alternating between Mac and another patient who'd unexpectedly gone into labor a little early, stood up, and looking at Mac said, "don't think about it. I'll go talk to him. New father jitters. He's not the first guy to freak out over his wife in labor and he won't be the last. He'll be fine." He grinned at Sloan. "You can hold the fort here alone through a few contractions, can't you?"

"What?" Sloan's gorgeous eyes went wide with terror. "I . . . Well . . . I . . . . " she sputtered.

Dan saw Mac smile at her friend. Exactly what he'd been going for. "Very articulate, isn't she," he said to Mac. "Must be those two PhD's."

Dan found Will leaning against the wall just outside the door to Mac's room, holding a cup of ice chips, trying for control and wiping at the tears that were leaking from his eyes. "What happened in there?" Shivitz asked kindly.

"I started thinking about her . . . alone . . . .going through this . . . before . . . "

"Well, don't," Shivitz interrupted. "Haven't you got enough going on in the present to keep you busy?" So Will told him the rest of it. How the fear that both Mac and Charlie would be taken from him as punishment had overwhelmed him. "Billy," Shivitz said softly, "God doesn't work like that." When Will looked at him skeptically, Danny started to talk about some passages in the Talmud that discussed retribution and vengeance, but quickly caught himself. "Look, I don't have time to give you a theological discourse here . . . Well, actually, I do 'cause I'm not really on until Act III, but you don't. You need to be in there. Right now, Mac's using up energy worrying about you, and she's going to need all the energy she can muster in a couple of hours " When this produced a look of horror on Will's face, Dan held up a hand. "With your capacity for guilt, Will, are you sure you're not Jewish?" He squeezed Will's shoulder in a way that was reminiscent of "Big Charlie," as Skinner was getting to be known around News Night and the 44th Floor. "Come on, you're going to have a great life. Now, get in there and let her see everything's fine, hold her and give her some of those ice chips before they're a glass of water."

Will opened the door just as the next contraction was starting. MacKenzie was up on her hands and knees and Sloan was on the bed beside her in roughly the same position so that Mac could lean against her. "You can push against me as hard as you like, Kenzie," Sloan was saying, "I'll just push back, okay?"

"Okay," Mac grunted out between clenched teeth. 

"Try not to clench your jaw, Kenz, remember what Gladys said in class, your mouth will be killing you by the end."

In the same tight strained voice that Will remembered from the phone messages (don't think about Kabul, he commanded himself), Mac replied, "I'll try." But she did seem to relax her jaw as she started panting through the pain. She was exhaling through her nose in little snorts. These were soon accompanied by short moans as the force of the contraction built and she started breathing through her mouth. He saw her lean into Sloan and her head drop as staccato high pitched sounds somewhere between a whimper and a whine came from his wife's lips every time she exhaled. 

"You're doing great, Kenzie," Sloan said lovingly, glancing at the electronic stopwatch she was using to time Mac's contractions. "This is the worst . . . It's almost over . . . It's going to start backing off . . . " 

"Uh, uh . . . uh," Mac's breaths seemed to be slowing down. Sloan started rubbing her back and speaking to her so softly that Will could not make out the words. While he hated seeing Mac in pain, he loved watching the affection that flowed between the women as she labored. When it appeared that the contraction had ended, Sloan collapsed down on the bed, rolling to her side and gently pulling MacKenzie with her. As Mac lay facing the door, she spotted Will and to his complete surprise broke into an ear to ear grin.

He stared at her transfixed. It was the same Blue Ribbon grin of accomplishment and satisfaction that he saw every morning on the nine-year-old face in the picture on his bureau. She was happy to be doing this. Charlotte was a MacKenzie McHale production, and he was Will McAvoy, her closest friend and most trusted partner. His role was to be the best he could be, make sure this was everything she wanted it to be, win a damned Peabody. He started to smile back at her, his grin spreading wider and wider until it matched hers. "Hey, Billy," she said, as he walked toward the bed. "Got ice chips in that cup, I hope."

 

Four hours later, dawn had broken into a Saturday morning in New York. MacKenzie's last two contractions had come "about" four minutes, 13 seconds apart according to Sloan, and Denise Barrington, who had arrived a little after 3:00 AM, examined Mac and announced that she was "about" (they were all exhausted and punchy and the word had become screamingly funny) 7 centimeters dilated. Despite Mac's jokes that this time she was going for drugs, she consistently refused all offers of an epidural. When the sounds that his wife was making had become completely inhuman, Will begged her to do something for the pain. She shook her head, and replied as soon as the contraction subsided, "I am. I'm screeching and moaning . . . and giving you bruises on your arms." 

MacKenzie was clearly exhausted and Will and Sloan weren't much better. But for Mac, her body had taken control. Nothing, with the possible exception of her death, was going to stop Charlotte from being born. Sloan and Will had both eaten around hour two at Dan Shivitz's insistence and Mac had managed to drink a protein drink around the same time. Elliott had been right about the ice chips. They were like a reward every time Mac survived a contraction. Consequently, she was consuming such a huge quantity of ice chips that it was obviating the need to put in an IV line to keep her hydrated. Charlotte's heartbeats were being monitored regularly and her position had been checked twice just to be sure she hadn't flipped herself around. Mac was given her regular breathing medications, once the night before and again early in the morning, and her lungs were functioning well enough that despite the exertion, she hadn't needed a rescue inhaler. All in all, Dan had told Will that he was "very pleased" with the way Mac's labor was going.

What kind of sadist, Will thought, did it take to be pleased seeing Mac in this kind of agony. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Mac still preferred to be on her hands and knees when the contractions hit, but during the last few, her arms had begun to tremble uncontrollably and Will was now on the bed, on his knees and one arm, holding her against him with the other. Her vocalizations had become almost canine and reminded Sloan of a dog she had had as a child who whined and howled every time he was tied up in their backyard. Sloan was just deciding that she should suggest adoption to Don when Mac's contraction started to wane and she began to laugh. Will looked at her with genuine alarm, seemingly fearful that the pain had driven her mad, but Sloan could see the amusement in those beautiful hazel eyes.

"What's so funny, Kenzie?" she asked.

"All of . . . it. This whole . . . thing of growing another . . . human being . . . inside, and then pushing . . . them out." She was laughing harder. "What a ridiculous . . . way . . . to make . . . people. I mean . . . the beginning . . . starts off . . . you know . . . sublime . . . just to get you suckered in . . . " At this point, Sloan started laughing too, while Will just looked on in amazement. "But, it's the . . . wow finish . . . ." 

 

Another two hours and Will was past the point of sanity. The contractions seemed to be coming with almost no break. Mac was still refusing the epidural, despite being told by Denise that she was getting to where it was "last call." Mac's ability to hold herself up during the contractions was all but gone, and Will's knees and elbow were screaming in agony to where he was considering asking for some fucking anesthesia. Dan had just come in the room to examine MacKenzie, having taken over for Denise who had gone out to make a call and check on another patient. "Just about 10, Mac," he said in a loving tone. "It won't be long now." Sure enough, the next contraction started building as soon as he stopped speaking. Will clutched his wife's back to his chest as Sloan leaned in to provided a support for MacKenzie to grip onto. Will was sure that Sloan would have bruises all over her shoulders and upper back when this was over. 

It went on for what seemed to Will to be an eternity, an eternity of the damned. Mac was sweating and shivering at the same time. She said her chest felt tight but the next contraction hit before she could do anything about it. When it ended, Denise clipped on an oximeter and said her reading was good so she thought that it was just part of the labor sensations and didn't think Mac needed albuterol. Another time, MacKenzie had gone completely limp and almost slipped out of Will's arms at the end of a contraction. His heart stopped and he'd shouted his wife's name so loudly and in such a panic that Sloan had jumped a mile. "She's okay! She's okay, Will," Sloan repeated quickly, wiping Mac's face with cool, wet cloth.

"I thought . . . I thought . . . " His own trembling mixed with Mac's until the bed was shaking.

"Billy . . . Billy . . . " Mac brought her head up. "I'm not . . . going . . . to die . . . on you. You're stuck . . . with . . . us . . . Ahhhh . . . Eeeeehhhuuugggg." 

After another hour, Danny came in looking so cool and pleased that Will had the overwhelming desire to either push his face in or scream, "how can you pretend to love her and be so calm while she suffers like this?" He did neither. Dan watched MacKenzie intently as the contraction built. "She's starting to crown, Mac. You're almost there," he shouted over Mac's screams. Will was whispering in her ear, as he had for the last dozen contractions, how much he loved her, how brave she was, how she could do this, how they would soon have Charlotte in their arms. Will wondered how she could still be alive.

In the couple of minutes they had between contractions, Dan again told Mac that it wouldn't be long now, but not to start pushing for a few more contractions. He said that she would probably have a sort of burning sensation by the third or fourth one and if she did, it might be hard to fight the urge to push, but it was really important for her to do just that. Mac nodded so solemnly and was looking at Danny so intently, with her hair plastered to her face with sweat and her eyes the size of saucers that she looked to Will like a lost and forlorn child. He wanted to snatch her up and run away with her from all of this pain. Dan suggested that Sloan take Mac's back and that Will get on the bed in front of her so the she could lean forward against him for the next few contractions. He told Mac that if she wanted, they could put a bar up across the bed that she could hold onto when she stared pushing. She nodded again. Will thought he was crazy to think that Mac had the strength left to hold onto anything. But then the next contraction started to build and she gripped his shoulders in a vise, and applied the strength of a mad woman. 

"I feel . . . the . . . burning . . . " MacKenzie gasped out between squeals as the contraction built. 

"Okay, that's her head pushing into your cervix," Denise replied. "Breathe. Breathe. Try to relax through it, sweetheart. It won't last too long. In a minute, you can reach down and touch her hair."

Mac panted and moaned and fought the almost overwhelming urge to push. Will kissed her forehead and stroked her hair back from her face as Sloan cooled the cloth again, wrung it out and put it to the back of Mac's neck. When the contraction receded, Mac hungrily sucked in ice chips, and then put her head on her husband's shoulder. It seemed to Will that the contractions were coming one after another with no respite, and sure enough, he'd barely completed the thought when he felt his wife tensing for the next one.

"Don't push. Don't push. Just relax . . . . " Denise continued coaching. In such a calm reasonable voice, Will wanted to shake her.

"It burns . . . " Mac squealed in anguish.

"I know. I know, sweetie. That's a good girl. That's great," Denise crooned. "She's crowned! Here, Mac, give me your hand." Denise reached for Mac's right hand, and removing it from Will's shoulder, moved it between her legs. "Feel that, MacKenzie? That's the top of Charlotte's head. Feel her hair. It's like silk, isn't it?"

Mac seemed to be beyond speech, as Denise directed her hand. Then, she looked at Will and an expression he would never forget came over her face. It was suffused with such joy and wonder that it brought tears to his eyes. "Billy . . . Oh, Billy . . . " He could barely hear her whisper.

He looked directly into her eyes. "Okay, Kenz," he said, brushing her lips with a kiss. "Let's have this baby."

They brought in the bar, although for the first part of the pushing phase, MacKenzie continued to cling to Will. Then after what seemed to be a day and a half, but which Danny said was actually about forty minutes, he said, "Okay, Mac, one or two more pushes and her head's going to be out. The rest of her will follow pretty quickly, given her position. So, who's going to catch this little lady? Daddy or Auntie Sloan?

"Billy," Mac grunted out.

"Okay, Billy. Sloan you stay behind her and keep supporting her but get ready 'cause when Will moves, you're going to have to take more of her weight." Sloan nodded her understanding. "Will, put Mac's hands on the bar and come around and stand beside me." Will looked dubious about whether this was going to work, but Mac started to disengage her hands from around his neck and put them on the bar. Will kept one hand on her to support her as he tried to get his knees to obey him and straighten out. How could the same joint simultaneously be both numb and screaming in pain, he wondered. Then looking into his wife's exhausted face, he forgot his own discomfort. He froze as the next wave of pain twisted Mac's beautiful features into a mask of agony, and a deep throated screech filled the room. "That's good. That's good. Keep pushing. You're doing it, Mac. Her head's almost out. A little more . . . Just a little more." Danny kept up a constant stream of encouragement. Will heard Mac suck in a breath and then scream a scream he'd never heard a human make before as she pulled on the bar with white knuckles. Then he looked down as a little wet head covered in dark hair, white goo and smeared with a bit of blood emerged from MacKenzie's body. 

"That's it, darling," Denise cooed as she helped Sloan support Mac's sagging form. "That was the worst. It's all over now. Only one or two contractions left. Okay, here it comes. Push when you feel it build." Danny grabbed Will hands which had been paralyzed like the rest of him by the sight of his daughter's head emerging and put them down between MacKenzie's legs. He nodded to Denise, as he saw in Mac's face that the contraction was building. "Come on, MacKenzie," Denise said with a perfect calm, "give Charlotte to Will." 

It actually happened on the next contraction, Mac seemed to bear down and relax at the same time, or relax as soon as she felt Charlotte on the move, because once the baby started, she indeed "slid out" as easily as Danny had predicted she would. Mac's eyes came open in surprise and relief in the same second as everyone heard the sound of wonderment that escaped Will's lips as 7 lbs. 13 oz. of the child he and Mac had made fell wiggling into his hands. Dan gestured to Sloan who had the electronic timer in her hand. "12:07 PM, August 31st," she announced.

At Dan's instruction, Will rubbed Charlotte's belly and she began to breathe. At her cry, Will looked down at the contents of his hands and then over at MacKenzie, who was being hugged by Sloan and began to sob from pure emotional overload - overwhelming love, gratitude that Mac was fine, relief that Charlotte was alive, exhaustion. MacKenzie lay against Sloan and smiled at him.

"Will, put Charlotte on her mother's stomach," Dan suggested, reaching up and helping Will turn and lower his daughter until she lay stomach to stomach with MacKenzie. Mac's hands came down automatically and covered her. As the warm, chubby little body wiggled beneath her fingers, Mac too began to cry. Will was instantly by her side, bending down to kiss her, caress her cheek, tell her that he had no idea . . . no fucking idea at all that life could be this wonderful. Sloan, Dan and Denise looked on in silence for several minutes while the little family bonded.

"You're banking her cord blood, right?" Shivitz looked at Will, then Mac for confirmation. When neither of them seemed to notice that there was anyone else on the planet Earth, let alone in the same room, he turned to Denise, who nodded. "Okay, that means two cuts. It's been more than a minute or two and it's stopped pulsing." He looked at Denise who nodded her agreement that it was time. "So who's cutting? Aunt Sloan?" 

"Me?" Sloan squeaked. 

"Yes, you." Dan said. "Come on. Get up here." 

"And . . . Uncle Danny," Mac said weakly, checking back into the conversation. 

"Okay. Your wish is my command, Mac," Dan replied, expertly clamping off Charlie's umbilical cord, and handing a pair of scissors to a clearly squeamish Sloan. As soon as the cord was cut, Danny and one of the nurses gave Charlotte her Apgar test. "You've got yourself a 10, here," he called to Will. "And 21 inches. This gal's got some long legs." Will, the leg man, just smiled.

Then they returned Charlotte, wrapped in a blanket, to MacKenzie, who was cradled in Will's arms. "Pull up your shirt and unwrap her and put her against your skin," Dan said gently, putting the baby into Mac's arms, which still trembled slightly from fatigue and were being supported by Will's. When Mac did as he suggested, Charlotte instinctively rooted at her breast, opening her mouth, as Mac positioned her left nipple against Charlie's lips. "Oh!" Mac exclaimed, breathing in sharply and looking down as her baby latched on. "Oh, God, Billy. She's sucking. She's nursing." Mac looked up into his impossibly blue eyes and began again to cry. 

"Kenz, Kenz, it's okay." He kissed the tears away, even as his own started to fall, knowing that she, like he, was thinking of William. 

Will would treasure always many memories of the day Charlotte was born. But the one that was most dear to him was the one that he suspected was his alone. For he had been looking directly at her as she was sliding from her mother's body into her father's hands. In that instant after her arms had cleared, Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy raised her fisted right hand over her head in what Will thought was a perfect recreation of the famous "Black Power" salute by the U.S.1968 track and field Olympic Medalists. She kept it raised even as a moment later, she opened her mouth, took in a lungful of air and let loose her first cry. 

"No retreat, baby, no surrender."


	45. Afterbirth

Since in the movies, the birth scenes always end with the newborn being put into the mother's tired but grateful arms, Will never thought that there was anything after that. He was about to learn the truth. Dan Shivitz' face looked tense as he conferred quietly with Denise Barrington, more tense and worried than he had looked at any point during the delivery. Will overheard Dan make a reference to "OR 2" being on "standby" which confused and worried him. But MacKenzie was in heaven. Charlotte had been sucking for about three minutes or so before Mac got a far away expression on her face and breathed out a soft, "oh, Billy," as she experienced the let-down reflex for the first time. Charlie's sucking sounds changed, gurgling slightly as her tiny mouth filled with colostrum, a highly nutritious substance that Denise described to Will, as being "truly the nectar of the gods." Mac had smiled up at Will and tried to describe the feeling of liquid flowing out of her breasts to her child, but couldn't seem to find the right words. Seeing her pleasure, Will had been overcome with emotion, which he'd handled by kissing her passionately while their daughter suckled.

A couple of minutes later, shortly after Sloan had left the room to meet Don and text out the baby pictures she had taken to "family," both blood-kin and the News Night crowd, Mac started having painful uterine contractions. When Will turned his shocked expression to Denise, she said simply, "the placenta." Of course! The thing they used to call the afterbirth, he was aware of it, but hadn't given it much thought.

Mac's discomfort continued for a few more minutes, and Dan Shivitz took Will aside. "This is going to be the trickiest part," he said quietly. "The placenta has to detach and be expelled and the uterus has to contract and cut off the flow of blood from the vessels that were feeding the placenta and feeding Charlie." Will nodded, his journalist's or his lawyer's instincts feeding the feeling that there was more going on here than he was being told. Danny took a breath that was surprisingly shaky and continued, "she's going to bleed. All women do. The question is . . . how much?"

Bleed, Will thought. Please, God, no! Will wanted to scream, but was forcing himself to stay calm, and so he asked slowly and deliberately, "You're concerned because of Kabul?" This time it was Dan's turn to nod. "It might be perfectly fine. But this is where things went wrong with . . . What I mean is . . . Mac has a history of postpartum hemorrhage. Plus, I don't know if anything I did . . . I just don't know." He rubbed a hand over his face in a weary gesture. Will felt like his legs were going to give out and he expected at any minute to feel himself sink down on his knees into the hospital's hotel-room-like carpet. He knew that Danny continued to talk to him, but all he could process was fear. " . . . I need . . . I'm going to talk to Mac. I want to get an IV in. I know she may protest . . . Well, she will protest . . . but I want to be ready to give her a drug that constricts the blood vessels and helps the womb contract, and . . . " Dan paused, looking at Will, "if I need to, I want to be able to give her blood."

Mac did protest. Not at the insertion of the IV stent so much as at the idea of being put on an oxytocin drip. Danny showed her data on his iPad that indicated that although some oxytocin undoubtedly ended up in breast milk, tens of thousands of babies in the U.S. alone are exposed to a postpartum dose annually with no discernible pattern of ill effects emerging. In the end, Mac compromised with Danny and Denise, who agreed that they would allow Mac to deliver the placenta and stop bleeding naturally if at all possible. "But," Danny said, looking her in the eye, "if things reach the point where I think that it is in Charlotte's and Will's best interests to intervene and stop your bleeding, their interests win." MacKenzie got the message. 

Dan Shivitz was clearly on edge. "I need to get a nurse to start an IV line with a 14 gauge cannula," he said distractedly to no one in particular. 

"I'll do it," Denise replied. "Where do I get the equipment?" The cannula was large as was the needle used to inset it. Although Denise did it expertly, Will could hardly stand to see it go into the vein just down from the bend of Mac's left arm. She seemed to mind less than he did, so caught up was MacKenzie in the wonder that was Charlotte McAvoy. It wasn't long after the IV was set that Mac's contractions peaked and the placenta separated and was expelled from her body. And with it, blood. 

It was the gush, the flood, of bright red blood from between her legs that triggered the flashback. Will saw the expression on the face of the woman he was holding change from interest to concern to horror to . . . gone . . . just gone, gone away, gone back to Kabul. He also saw in the same instant that she had stopped breathing. MacKenzie felt frozen, paralyzed in his arms and he realized that Charlotte might have fallen from hers had his daughter not been suctioned onto Mac's breast like some sort of 7 lb. 13 oz. vacuum attachment. He made sure he supported the baby and she continued to nurse, oblivious to the excitement around her. "Kenz! Mac! Kenzie! Breathe! Mackie! Mackie, sweetheart, take a breath . . . come back. It's Billy. I'm here with you." His wife didn't seem to hear him. In fact, she seemed almost catatonic. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but knew that he had failed after he started speaking and Denise's head jerked up from checking the IV in MacKenzie's arm. 

Just then, Charlotte made a sound somewhere between a fart and the sound effect for diarrhea from the soundtrack to a disgusting Frat House comedy. Denise opened the blanket that was around her and Will could see that his daughter was now sitting in a sticky looking black or very dark green substance. Poop, he supposed, although it didn't seem to have a smell. Denise just covered her up again and looked again at the amount of blood that MacKenzie was losing.

"Daniel," Denise Barrington said sharply. It was as though in going back to Kabul, MacKenzie had taken Danny with her. Dan Shivitz was staring transfixed as Mac bled freely. "Dr. Shivitz!" Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Barrington turned the valve and started the oxytocin dripping into MacKenzie's bloodstream. "Oxygen?" She asked loudly.

"Oh, yes. Over there. I'll get it." Shivitz came to and walked quickly to where a portable oxygen tank had been sitting unneeded since it had been wheeled in the night before. He carried it quickly over to the bed and turning the valve to start the flow, put the cannula into Mac's nostrils and secured the headband, while Denise clipped a pulse oximeter to her finger. Mac's breathing was rapid and shallow, but at least the paralysis had ended. Will could hear his wife wheezing but she was instinctively inhaling through her nose. As she got some relief from the oxygen, MacKenzie started to speak, mumbling really, asking "Billy" to forgive her. 

Denise quickly drew blood from Mac's arm and sent it out to the lab. Will wanted to ask why but he was too busy trying to bring MacKenzie back to the present. He also noticed that one of the nurses put a blood pressure cuff on his wife's arm which seemed to automatically take readings every few minutes.

Will kept telling her that Billy was with her and there was nothing to forgive, but she didn't seem to acknowledge his presence. Realizing that Mac was in distress, a new nurse, coming into the room for the first time, decided that it would be a good time to clean up a dozing Charlotte, who was now wearing meconium, as well as the vernix and smattering of dried blood in which she'd been born. Plucking her from Mac's (and Will's) arms, she said pleasantly, "I'll just go get her cleaned up," and was out the door before anyone could react. But as soon as it registered that Charlotte had been taken from her mother's arms, MacKenzie began to scream in terror. 

"No! No!" she shrieked. "Danny! No! I can't . . . I can't let . . . him . . . Danny! Danny! I can't . . . give . . . him up . . . ."

Will clutched his wife as best he could with the IV and oxygen lines in place, and with Shivitz and two nurses alternating with absorbent padding to contain the blood that still pouring from between her legs. "Kenz! Kenz," he turned her face, trying to make eye contact. "MacKenzie, look at me! You are in New York. That isn't William. It's Charlotte . . . it's Charlotte . . . It's our daughter . . . And she's fine. She's alive. They will give her back to you . . . they are just washing her." As he spoke these words repeatedly, he could hear his voice miraculously becoming lower and more composed, and he realized that it was somehow starting to break through into the place of horror to which his wife had gone. Slowly, her screams subsided, and her eyes seemed to be capable of focusing again.

"That's Charlotte?" Mac asked. "Yes, yes, of course. Billy? Billy? You're here?"

"Yes, yes! I'm here, Kenz. Always here. Always with you." He kissed her hair, her forehead and her lips.

"Thirsty," she croaked.

"Okay, okay. I'll see if I can find some more ice chips." Although he was loathe to leave her, Will started for the door.

Mac lay with her eyes closed until she felt Shivitz sit down beside her on the bed. "Mac . . . " was all he said.

Tears sprang to her eyes, as she tried gamely to smile. "Little bit of a psychotic . . . episode, there."

"Oh, Mac . . . . " Shivitz looked compassionately into her eyes.

"Jesus, Danny . . . . " Just as Will returned with the ice chips, MacKenzie crumbled into the great, shattering sobs that he recognized as evidence that Mac was truly afraid. Apparently so did Dan Shivitz because he wrapped his arms around her and made the kind of soothing sounds that Will had heard him use to comfort Avi. 

"MacKenzie, you are so not psychotic," he told her, employing a tone that suggested she might be crazy for even thinking such a thing. "Mrs. McAvoy, you are one of the most pulled together women I've ever seen . . . "

"But . . . but . . . I went . . . off . . . back . . . I was nursing . . . the baby . . . How do I . . . trust . . . " What she was saying finally made it through the fog of Will's brain, and galvanized him into action.

"No! No, Kenz, you've got it wrong!" He quickly came over to her. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. You're fine. You're going to be a great mother. It wasn't the baby . . . the trigger . . . I saw it happen . . . It wasn't the baby. It was the blood." He glanced over at the nurses who were still dealing with the frightening amount of blood she was losing. 

The word, blood, seemed to remind Dan of what he needed to do. As Will fed her ice chips, Dan began to talk to Mac, "I agree, you will be a perfectly stellar mother." Mac gave him a weak smile. "But, you also seem to be one of those women who just bleed like a stuck pig after delivery. Right now," he too glanced at the nurses, "you are still marginally in the safe zone. You've been carrying a lot of extra blood and some of this is nature's way of getting rid of what Charlie didn't take with her. But, well . . . you've had a PPH delivery once before . . . . (Will looked quizzically at Denise who mouthed, "postpartum hemorrhage" back at him) . . . And we are getting near the danger zone, so we need to slow this down. We've given you a full dose of oxytocin and . . . The next thing to do is . . . Well, I want to massage your uterus."

Mac eyes were locked with Shivitz' as just a hint of humor crept into them. Soon, both doctor and patient were striving mightily to maintain straight faces. Then, like a couple of Not Ready for Primetime Players losing it on "Saturday Night Live," eventually they could contain their mirth no longer, and burst out in hysterical laughter. They were followed in this by Will, who managed to choke out, "well, there's a pick-up line you don't hear everyday."

Denise glanced meaningfully at Shivitz as if to remind him that time was of the essence here, although she was pleased to see Mac laughing. Dan cleared his throat. "The thing is, Mac, it's pretty painful. Some women say it's as bad as crowning . . . We can give you an epidural . . . . "

At that point, Will broke in, "please, please, please, Kenz, do it for me . . . Please, I'm fucking begging you . . . Take the epidural. Charlie's got her own circulatory system now. Please . . . ."

She'd been saying, yes, for a while before he stopped talking long enough to hear her. "Yes. I'm saying, yes," she said, chuckling.

"Yes? You're saying, yes?" Mac looked at him, shook her head and crinkled up her eyes in a smile. He leaned down to kiss her, as he said, "Thank God!"

An anesthesiologist came in and gave Mac the epidural. The nurse, who had taken Charlie, returned, and cheerfully unaware of the panic she had provoked, gave the baby, squeaky clean and awake, to her mother. At Dan's suggestion, Mac put Charlie to her right breast, where the infant immediately latched on and began to nurse again. Telling Mac to speak up if she felt too much pain, Dan Shivitz inserted one gloved hand and placing the other on MacKenzie's abdomen, began the uterine exam and massage. After a little while he told the nurse to "give 100 micrograms of ergonovine" and Will watched as she added something to Mac's IV line. Other than a couple of smallish blood clots which he removed, Dan announced that he didn't feel any problems, and that the uterus was indeed shrinking. After a little while, MacKenzie's bleeding had demonstrably lessened and Will could both feel himself and see Danny starting to relax. Will breathed even easier when he heard Dan tell one of the nurses to relay the news that he was releasing the OR. Finally, Dan smiled at Mac, and told her that he was just about done, that everything was going to be fine, and she could have a dozen more children if she wanted them.

 

Will just wanted to sleep, but it was still early evening, so this was not to be. He felt like this day was caught in some sort of time warp that made every hour two or three times it's normal length. Around 5:30, Sloan returned with Don and Jim. Christ! She hadn't had anymore sleep than he had, Will thought, how the hell could she be so chipper? Sex, he decided, watching the eye contact being made between his "little sister" and the acting EP of News Night. God, since Mac had returned, people at ACN were gathering rosebuds all over the fucking place. And ACN was filled with a magic and energy that none of them had ever known before. Well, maybe he had, before he fucked it up. MacKenzie, he thought and his throat closed on a giant lump of love. His MacKenzie. His wife. His daughter's mother. His children's mother. 

"Billy, come over here and talk to our guests." MacKenzie's voice interrupted his daydreaming. "Actually, would you come here and take your daughter. My arm's breaking. Holding a seven and a half pound weight in an isometric exercise for four hours is a workout." He walked over and sat down beside her on the bed and took the offered bundle. The oxygen was gone, and although the IV line was still in, it was disconnected. Mac had eaten Mexican food that Jim had catered and walked to the bathroom after the epidural wore off. She generally seemed no worse for either the bleeding episode or the PTSD flashback. Will, on the other hand, felt like he'd been run over by a herd of bison. Not that it wasn't worth every moment of it. He held MacKenzie's hand and kissed the top of his sleeping daughter's head in three places, drinking in her warmth and softness and wonderful innocent smell. When he looked up, it was right into Don Keefer's eyes which were filled to overflowing with tears. 

"It's even better than you're imagining," Will said simply.

Jim had launched FaceTime on Mac's iPad and they were waiting to connect with her parents. "Mackie!" Lady McHale's voice came out of the speaker a split second before her smiling face appeared on the screen. "You're looking marvelous! What did you decide on the epidural?" 

"What the fuck do you think?" Will stuck his face in front of the camera. Margaret laughed heartily, both at the expression on Will's face, he really tried not to say fuck in conversations with his in-laws, and at the knowledge that of course MacKenzie would tough it out and experience every moment to the fullest. 

"Mackie, my love . . . ". Ted McHale's face now joined Margaret's on the screen. "William . . . Will . . . You survived, my boy. Good to see. Have all of your faculties returned to normal?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I can remember what normal is."

"When did you two sleep last?" Margaret asked.

"Let's see, I had an hour's nap at around this time yesterday," Mac answered, "oh and yes, I actually fell asleep after we got here, for, what? . . . a half hour last night . . . "

"Early this morning," Will corrected, "around 1:30."

"Right before my water broke. Will hasn't been asleep since 6:45 yesterday morning, poor baby."

"You two both must be exhausted," Ted said. "I, of course, can only remember having the strength of ten men through each of Maggie's deliveries."

"I'll settle for the sleep of ten men." Will chimed in. 

"Well, let us take another look at our grand-daughter and then we'll go. Thank Sloan for the pictures and text."

"She's right here. Sloan, come say hello to my parents." While Sloan was tearing herself away from a conversation with Danny, Don and Jim, the McHales oohed and aahed over Charlotte's beauty and congratulated Mac and Will on getting an easy nurser. After thanking Sloan for the text and listening appreciatively to one short funny vignette from Mac's labor, Lord and Lady McHale signed off. Mac and Will did one more Skype call to Will's sister, Rosemary, and turned off the iPad for the night. Big Charlie, Leona and Maggie arrived pretty much simultaneously, just as Sloan and Don were leaving.

Charlotte, who had awakened once during the call with Rosemary, had nursed, and was back asleep, and therefore easily passed around. Will thought that the sight of her little rosebud mouth against the curve of his wife's breast might just be the most beautiful visual he had ever experienced. He wished he were an artist so that he could draw and preserve the exquisite lines. Maybe he should commission a portrait of them just for him to hang in the bedroom and stare at when Charlie was too old for such things. 

Big Charlie got choked up when Will put his namesake into his arms. Will hugged Charlie Skinner, tightly but carefully so as not to crush his daughter, and whispered in his ear, "thank you . . . thank you for knowing what I needed when I didn't. Thank you for bringing MacKenzie back . . . " and then Will's voice broke, and the two men just stood and hugged each other and the baby who had been born of Charlie Skinner's refusal to give up on her parents. "Grandma Lee" then took her turn with Charlotte, and pronounced her "gorgeous." Maggie had been nervous about holding the baby, but adapted quickly when she realized what a substantial little bundle she actually was. 

Denise had left shortly after Mac's bleeding was brought under control, but Danny was still there, and noticing Mac's drooping eyelids, he announced that he was shutting the party down. Mac looked grateful, as she hugged and kissed Jim, Maggie, Big Charlie and even Leona good-bye. A nurse brought in an infant sleeper and attached it to Mac's side of the bed and Will put his daughter down. She had passed a second "meconium stool" into a tiny disposable diaper (this seemed to be a big deal to the nurses, and Will tried to remind himself to either ask or get on the internet and find out why when he was less tired), so, under the nurse's supervision, Will cleaned his daughter and put her in a new one. Mac made a joke about how she'd handle the input if he'd take care of the output, pronouncing it a "fair division of labor."

Mac was given her nighttime breathing medicine and her bleeding was checked. It still seemed like a lot to Will but both the nurse and Dr. Shivitz pronounced it, "good." Finally, Dan hugged Will, who came close to tears again as he told the young doctor that there simply weren't words to express his gratitude for everything Dan had done for Mac. Since only Will was in the room with them, Dan kissed Mac, chastely, but on the lips, and told her that she was his favorite patient of all time. 

At last, and for the first time ever, the three McAvoy's were alone. Will took off his shoes, socks and jeans and climbed gratefully into bed. He was so tired, he felt lightheaded. He gathered MacKenzie to him, drinking in her softness and warmth and scent, as he had Charlotte's. She murmured sleepily that she loved him more than she had ever loved anyone in her life. He kissed her hair and thanked her for giving him a life, for not giving up on him when he was "an arse," and for knowing that "I wasn't, but I could be."


	46. The Heart's a Really Big Organ

Mac woke up to find her hands and feet were swollen and her face and eyes looked puffy. Anticipating that she would be leaving the hospital that day, and that she might be spotted by someone who would take a picture of her that would end up on Page Six, or the morning show, her vanity kicked in, and she was grumpy. Dr. Shivitz arrived back at Beth Israel tired and out-of-sorts himself from a night with a restless 10-month-old, and they were a dynamite combination. 

"You'll be fine by tomorrow, Mac," Dan said in response to Mac's greeting him with a complaint about her appearance as soon as he entered the room. "It's to be expected. We were pumping you with fluids at twice the normal IV rate yesterday to get the oxytocin into you fast and to keep your blood pressure from tanking." When she complained about that, he tried to stay collected, but Will, who was sitting across the room rocking a sleeping Charlotte, could see that it was a struggle. "It's okay, Mac. You're young and heathy. You'll pee it all out by tomorrow. You really don't look as bad as you think." Wrong thing to say, Will thought wincing. Sure enough, Mac's grumpiness increased, as did her argumentative frame of mind. Finally, Danny lost it with her, something Will had never seen, and bellowed, "for fuck's sake, Mac, you look a little puffy! What's the big deal? You would have gone into seizures or cardiac arrest from blood loss if we'd just let nature take it's course, as you say you would have liked. Nature taking its fucking course is the reason that postpartum hemorrhage is the leading cause of maternal death in the third world." He leaned over Mac, enraged, and snarled, "if you ask me, a little puffiness is a small price to pay for Will's not waking up this morning a widower wondering how he's going to care for a newborn alone." Mac's eyes went wide with shock, and she looked for a moment like she was trying for a comeback. Then, she closed them and lowered her head, and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I apologize, Danny. I don't know what's the matter with me." 

"I do," Dan replied kindly, her contrition having taken the wind out of his sails. "This happened with Rivka too. You wake up and sort of expect to have your pre-pregnancy body and life back and you don't. And I'm sure it's worse for you since we pumped you up like a water balloon yesterday."

Mac actually laughed. "I just figured that we'd be getting out today and since after the shooting a bunch of the gossip rags know it's likely that I'm here at Beth Israel, someone will spot us, and I'll have this face showing up all over," she said gesturing to herself.

"Oh, the price of celebrity. See, if you'd stuck with me instead of going back to Billy over there, you'd be the wife of an obscure New York physician instead of a guy with his face plastered on the side of half the buses in this town." 

Mac laughed again. 

"Actually," Dan continued, "I have a solution. Stay here tonight. I'd like to show Will how to do a uterine massage, just the external part," he amended quickly when Mac's eyes opened wide in surprise, "and make sure that your bleeding is down to the equivalent of a super heavy period before you go home. You're close, but not quite there." He smiled at her. "Also, I have a bribe to offer. If you stay tonight, Rivka will come in and I'll get the executive dining room to cater a Kosher chateaubriand dinner for the four of us." Will suspected that Dan knew that in promising an evening with Rivka, he was making an offer that Mac couldn't refuse. Will also intended to corner Dan away from Mac and get the straight story on this bleeding business. 

 

In contrast to his wife, Will had awoken that morning feeling great, and he'd been up with Charlie one extra time in the night while Mac slept. He'd made friends with one of the night nurses who had showed him how to feed Charlie without waking her mother. He'd lain in the darkened room, MacKenzie's sleeping body against his, holding her breast while Charlie sucked happily, and thought again that he was the luckiest, most blessed man alive. 

He'd heard Charlie making little mewling noises and had picked her up, and taken her out into the hall so she wouldn't wake his exhausted wife. He was walking with her when a 60ish looking woman with salt and pepper hair and a kind expression, wearing a nurse's uniform, came over and introduced herself as Dora. "He's hungry, honey," Dora observed as Charlie bumped her head against her father's chest. "That's called rooting. He's looking for a breast with some milk in it. You're not going to be able to satisfy him for long."

"Her," Will corrected. "And, yeah, I figured as much, but Mac's sleeping and I didn't want to wake her up." 

"Mac is mommy?" Dora asked and then getting a good look at Will, answered her own question. "Oh my God! Of course she is! You're Will McAvoy. I wasn't on last night when you came in. That's MacKenzie McHale's baby," Dora said moving the top of the blanket to get a better look. "She's beautiful and so big. What did she weigh?"

"Almost 8 pounds," Will answered proudly. He felt justified in his pride seeing as how he had been in charge of MacKenzie's nutrition for the last nine months. 

"I saw that show that Anderson Cooper did about her mother. Iraq and all. So brave." She paused. "Come with me. Let's see if we can keep everybody satisfied." 

And with that, Dora turned in the direction of Mac's room. Once there, she took Charlie from Will and whispered for him to get on the bed next to Max and hold her against him so that she would stay on her side. When he did, she told him to pull up his wife's t-shirt and position her lower arm slightly stretched out. He heard Dora's sharp intake of breath and realized that Mac's scar was visible. 

"Islamabad," he whispered, looking at her. "Shiite demonstration turned riot. Someone with a knife saw the chance to get an American journalist, although I understand she was basically wearing a burka. Mac kept it out of the media and doesn't talk about it."

"I understand. Dear God! But she's home now."

"Yes. She is."

Will was amazed that Mac didn't wake up, but other than a murmur or two, she appeared undisturbed. Putting the baby down on her side facing her mother's breast, Dora got a pillow to put behind Charlotte to support her. "Now," Dora whispered again to Will, "bring your arm over MacKenzie and cradle her lower breast in your hand so you can position the nipple at the baby's mouth. That's it."

"Wow!" Will exclaimed, chuckling softly when he felt the weight of Mac's lactating breast, "she's always considered herself rather flat chested."

"Not for the next year or so," Dora replied. "Enjoy it while you can. Yes, that's it. There you go," she said when Charlie rooted for the nipple, found it and latched on. "She's a strong one that little girl. That's the pick of the litter, there, an alpha pup." Seeing the confusion on Will's face, she whispered, "you don't breed dogs, do you, honey? There's always one pup whose survival instinct is the strongest, who gets to the biggest tit and latches on first." She gestured toward Charlie. Will could hear her making faint little sucking sounds. He smiled to himself. Yes, of course, MacKenzie's little girl would be the pick of the litter. 

 

Even though MacKenzie and Danny seemed to have patched up their differences, Mac remained somewhat grouchy for the rest of the day. This, Will assumed, was what precipitated their fight. Well, it really wasn't a fight exactly, more like Mac letting him have it on the subject of "The Return of Brian Brenner." It had started innocuously enough with a visit around noon from David Hendrickson and his girl friend, Carrie Stephens, the girl they had met in his hospital room the day Mac was released after the shooting. Although David and Carrie weren't on the list of approved visitors, once they had shown ID and Will cleared them, they were shown upstairs by security. David had just arrived back in New York for his senior year at NYU, and Will was pleased to see, carried no apparent or serious ill effects from his trip to death's door six months before.

"How did you know we were here?" Mac asked after they had all greeted each other. "Have we made the media already?"

"No, my mom got a text from Sloan. There's nothing out except Elliot announced Charlotte's birth on last night's broadcast, but he just gave name, rank and serial number." 

Carrie and then David held Charlie who was awake and gazing at them as if trying to remember where they had all met before. When Will took her back she gave the sweetest little sound that could be taken for a sigh and settled in against him for a nap. "She sure knows her daddy," Carrie observed, and Will's expression of pleasure at this remark was so naked and childlike, it brought tears to Mac's eyes. 

The conversation then turned to plans being made by the NYU chapter of Greater Fools to determine what issues to address during the coming academic year, which somehow segued into Carrie commenting on how amazing it was that so much of what Will and MacKenzie had set out to do was happening because of what was really a pretty unflattering portrait of Will and News Night in Brenner's New York Magazine article. Turning to Will, she asked in a sincerely innocent manner, "Mr. McAvoy . . . Will . . . Brenner's said you picked him personally, didn't you have any idea that he'd write something disparaging about what you and MacKenzie were doing with News Night?"

As Will stared at Carrie dumbfounded, Mac asked brightly, "yes, Will, didn't you have any inkling that after you gave Brian Brenner a ringside seat to our lives, he'd do a takedown piece on us?" Will could have sworn she batted her eyelashes at him as she spoke. It did, however, have the benefit of directing Carrie's attention away from Will, who was incapable of formulating an answer to the question.

"Brenner's said that he had a personal relationship in the past with you, is that true?" Carrie asked MacKenzie. David winced slightly at Carrie's asking such a personal question, Will winced slightly at the thought of Mac having a "personal relationship" with Brian, but Mac didn't seem to mind.

"Yes. I dated Brian before I came to New York and ACN the first time. He broke up with me shortly after I got here. After I started dating Will, Brian decided he wanted me back, but after a brief reconciliation, I realized that Will was five times the man Brenner would ever be and told Brian that I never wanted to see him again." Carrie just looked back at Will, who still didn't seem to remember how to speak. In the silence, Mac continued, "in fairness to Will, when he chose Brian to write the article, he didn't know that my relationship with Brian had ended with me telling Brenner that I was in love with Will, he just knew that I hadn't seen Brian for quite a while when he brought him in to do the article." Will had just shrugged at Carrie, trying for a boyish insouciance, while David stepped in and executed a change of subject.

Brian Brenner's phantom presence hung in the air after David and Carrie left. Charlie woke up and Mac began to nurse, but even that doesn't seem to settle her. Finally, Will walked over to the rocking chair where his wife sat cradling their daughter.

"Mac, I . . . " he trailed off. She looked up at him and gave a small sad smile. "I'm so sorry . . . about inflicting Brenner on you . . . " He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what I was doing. "

"Really?" she interrupted, "really . . . you don't know what you were doing bringing Brian into the newsroom . . . back into my life everyday for weeks and weeks? How much money have you paid Habib?" He knew he wasn't supposed to answer that question so he just stayed quiet. He could hear his wife's voice rising in both pitch and tension and see her face flush slightly with emotion. "Well, here," she said, "I'll give it to you for free, Will. You brought Brenner in as a test for me, one that was set up for me to fail so that I would confirm that I was the lying, cheating bitch you had made me out to be."

"Mac . . . God, Kenz . . . " he started to defend himself but she charged on as if he hadn't said a word.

"No. First, you put him in my face everyday. Then, you let him know very clearly that you were done with me and would have absolutely no objection if he wanted to make a play for me." Will opened his mouth to argue, but found that he couldn't think of anything to say. "Think about it, Billy. You said that you were giving me a side-by-side comparison, but that was bullshit. You were treating me like dirt. You'd been punishing me harder for weeks and weeks. All Brian had to do was not hit me to look better . . . be kinder." She rather wished she hadn't chosen words that conjured up the ghost of John McAvoy, but it was too late to take them back, so she kept going. "You knew he would eventually take up your invitation and make a move on me and you fully expected me to fall back into bed with him. Then you could lick your wounds and feel justified in everything you'd done to me."

Had he, Will wondered. Jesus, what had he been thinking? "I thought you'd heard me say that I still loved you and you hadn't cared . . . " he blurted out.

"Jesus Christ, Billy!" Mac's body jerked physically and she spoke so loudly that Charlotte, who had just relaxed from her mother's breast in sated bliss startled awake and began to cry. Mac turned her attention immediately to her daughter, "oh, Charlie, baby, I'm sorry," she murmured, kissing Charlie's silky head and rocking her gently. "Did Mummy scare you? There's nothing to fear. Everything's alright. Shush . . . shush." Will could hear Mac's voice thickening with emotion as she closed her eyes and rested her cheek on Charlotte's forehead. 

"I just don't understand," she began again more calmly after Charlotte had quieted and closed her eyes again, "how you could think that I would hear you say you still loved me and not have come crawling to you on my knees. Where the fuck were you for the first year I was back at ACN? Anyone . . . God, Joey even . . . could have told you that I must not have gotten that damned message!"

"Who's Joey?" Will couldn't stop himself.

His wife groaned. "Your graphics guy, remember?" she answered with exaggerated politeness. "Will, couldn't you see the pity with which everybody even remotely connected to News Night looked at me in those days? For a year, they'd been watching me scrambling like a starving child after any crumb of kindness that might fall from your hand. Every fucking person, every one of them, knew I was in love with you . . . stupidly . . . hopelessly . . . irrevocably . . . pathetically . . . in love with you . . . " She was crying now, and Will saw a tear drop from the end of MacKenzie's nose and fall onto one of Charlotte's tiny curls. It broke his heart. 

"Kenz, please . . . " he came to her and knelt at her feet and put his head in the part of her lap that Charlie wasn't occupying. "I'm so sorry. Sorry for bringing in Brian . . . Sorry for holding onto my hurt . . . So so sorry for not listening to you in the beginning . . . If I could think of any way to make it up to you . . . Make you forget . . . "

"You don't have to, Billy." She played absently with his hair. "What happened . . . happened. If our lives are going to be based on denying the past, or denying our emotions about the past, we've got real problems. I love you. I love the life . . . the family . . . " She kissed Charlie. " . . . that we are building. We don't need to pretend that I'm not the person who stupidly let Brian seduce me back into bed while I was dating you, or that you're not the guy who just as stupidly brought him in as your biographer to tempt and punish me."

Will gently took the sleeping baby from her arms and put Charlie down on her cot. Then he pulled his wife up from the rocking chair in which she was sitting and took her in his arms. Holding her against him felt so good. He just pressed her to his body for a long time. Then, looking down, he ran his finger along her lower lip to extricate it from her teeth. "Hey, that's one of my favorite body parts there," he said softly. She smiled, and the love in her eyes undid him. She was right of course. He must have known, seen that she still loved him just like he knew that she was pregnant when he left her. The thought knifed through his gut. He must also have seen the love that was on her face that first moment they saw each other again in the bull pen. Jim had. Jim had told him the night she was shot that watching MacKenzie's face when Will appeared that first day just about killed him. "I knew that Mac was capable of loving unconditionally, totally and completely but when she looked at you . . . " Jim had broken off speaking, Will remembered, and struggled to regain his composure. 

He had denied himself what he wanted most because he'd needed it so badly. Told himself that he couldn't have it. And that it didn't matter. Kept himself in pain. Kept his hand over the flame, thinking that eventually he could make it stop burning his skin, stop hurting. Habib's analogy. He had spent years drowning his sorrows in scotch, cigarettes and music when all the while this could have been his. She could have been his. No pain, no sorrow, just love and comfort and work and home and children and MacKenzie's body clinging to his, pleasuring his, touching him as no one else had ever done. All he had to do was ask. This was the realization, he knew, that made MacKenzie crazy, made her lose it, made her angry and made her cry. 

 

Dinner with Rivka and Dan was fun, and the evening was very interesting. A white linen covered table, set with bone china and silverware, and four dining chairs were delivered to Mac's room around 5:30 PM. "Ooo, fancy," Mac said emerging from the bathroom where she and Will had showered together. "This calls for formal attire." And she retrieved the deep blue cashmere robe that Will had loved since their first morning back together from her bag and put it on over her yoga pants and tank top. 

Rivka arrived at a little before 6:00, and Dan arrived, showered and dressed in civilian clothes at about 6:40, a hairs breath before the food. The meat was tender and the vegetables farm fresh and cooked perfectly. All in all, the meal was surprisingly good and not just for hospital food. Dan produced a bottle of 2010 Old Ghost Old Vine Lodi Zinfandel, a limited production vintage that rarely made it out of California, and told Mac that it was safe for her to have a glass. She had a glass and a half. It went straight to her head. 

"Billy, I think I'm pissed," she stage-whispered conspiratorially to her husband right before Dan took the lids off of the desert plates, and then began to giggle. 

"My, my," he replied, "after a glass and a half of wine. That's a sad state for a journalist. The woman I married could hold her liquor."

"No, she couldn't," Mac replied. "The woman you married couldn't drink."

"Well, that's true. You've just been away from it for a while," he said, patting her hand. "I'm sure it's like riding a bicycle. It'll come back to you."

Charlotte, who had been fed right before Dan arrived, slept the sleep of the dead. In fact, she slept so soundly that each of her parents at different times excused themselves from the table and walked over and checked on her. The adults ate and talked and enjoyed themselves and Mac actually forgot that she was puffy and felt, if not attractive, at least human again.

Will remembered the exact moment when he looked at Mac laughing with Dan Shivitz and realized that this was the man to whom he might well have lost MacKenzie. Brilliant, kind, compassionate, intellectual and intuitive, Danny was, Will thought, if anything more compatible with Mac than he was. Will realized that he was staring at them when Dan's phone buzzed and jolted him out of his reverie. 

"Mac," Will heard Dan say when he hung up the phone, "that's a colleague of mine who I'd like to have take a look at you."

"Take what kind of look at me," Mac asked innocently. When Dan was slow to reply, it dawned on her what he was saying. "Oh, wait . . . a minute," she exclaimed looking at him in horror, "that kind of look at me! You want me to submit to an internal exam when I've just had a steak dinner and enough zin to get me somewhat drunk?"

Shivitz held up both palms in a gesture strikingly reminiscent of Don Keefer. Maybe it's a Jewish thing, Will thought. "I admit that the timing's not great, but he's very busy and was in the neighborhood so to speak."

"Now?" Mac asked, "he was in the neighborhood now? At night?"

"Yes. Coming from a party. He's actually in a tux."

For some reason, probably the wine, that struck Mac as extremely funny. "Well, why didn't you say so before," she laughed. "That changes everything. Other than Will, I've never been given an internal exam by a man in a tux. How could I pass up an opportunity like that?"

"Great!" Shivitz replied. Then turning to Will and Rivka, he said, "you two can just stay here and enjoy yourselves. Mac and I will go down and meet Geoff and use the examining room in my office. We won't be long." Will really wanted to go with his wife. Even more, he wanted to ask Dan what this was all about. He constantly felt like people were protecting him where MacKenzie was concerned, denying him information that they thought would upset or frighten him. 

But he couldn't leave Rivka alone, so he smiled and nodded and said, "Hurry back. 'Cause if Charlie wakes up hungry, we're SOL."

"Rivka's not," Dan shot back, as he guided Mac out the door with a hand on her waist. Will could hear her giggling at something Danny was saying as it closed. He stared after them. Rivka just sat and watched him, sipping her wine. 

"Do you know why he wants this guy to look at her?" Will asked. "I feel like he's . . . people are . . . that there's something serious going on with Mac that's being hidden from me." Will sounded so miserable, no, so frightened, that Rivka reached over the table and took his hand. Will thought of Dan losing it with Mac that morning and wondered. It was so out of character. Was it because he was terribly worried about her?

"I really don't think so, Will. At least he's said nothing to me to indicate that he thinks Mac is in any kind of danger. I think he's being super-careful. He thinks the world of Geoff Marshall. Geoff was his mentor at Columbia." She paused. "I know he's kicking himself for not starting the oxytocin sooner. He says he let Mac bully him . . . bewitch him is more like it . . . " Will smiled at her use of the same word he frequently used to describe Mac's effect on himself. ". . . into keeping everything natural and waiting to see if she'd bleed a little and then stop. He thinks if he'd gotten her on the drip earlier, at a minimum, she wouldn't have had the built up blood that came out with the placenta. I guess it terrified her from what he said."

"More than terrified," Will replied, and told Rivka about Mac's flashbacks and nightmares.

"But I don't think," Rivka began returning to the subject Will had originally raised, "that Daniel's worried about any long term ill effects of the bleeding. He's already talking about what he's going to do differently the next time Mac's in labor, make her get the IV in early when it can be done between contractions and start her on oxytocin the minute the cord's tied." Will nodded and did feel a bit reassured by that. Danny wouldn't be talking about a next time if something were seriously wrong. Rivka squeezed the hand she'd relinquished some time before in the conversation. "You know, Dan's pretty neurotic about most of his patients, and this isn't most . . . this is MacKenzie . . . so he's going to suffer and fret and talk to his friends about her until she's all healed up."

"Do you ever . . . feel . . . get . . . " Will trailed off, ending the flow of words he had never intended to start. He smiled brightly at Rivka, and was opening his mouth to change the subject when she spoke.

"Jealous of their relationship? Not really. The heart's a big organ, Will, especially each of theirs." Will said nothing, thinking that it was interesting that Rivka had correctly interpreted his truncated question as asking about Mac and Danny's emotional connection and not if she was afraid they would have an affair. When Will didn't speak, she went on. "I didn't know Daniel when he met her . . . this gorgeous, tragic creature who literally fell into his arms and whose life depended on him . . . . He used his medical skill to save her fertility, and then his humanity and faith to save her life and sanity, at least that's how Mac tells it . . . How could he not have fallen in love with her?" Rivka smiled at Will. "But luckily for me, she was already married to someone else. I believe his name's Billy something or other." Will smiled back. "Will, Mac is exactly where she wants to be. She loves you. She is totally and completely committed to you, emotionally, spiritually and physically. It doesn't take a trained psychologist to see that. And now, you and Mac have a child between you, just like Dan and I do. Daniel and I are happily married, Will." She paused. "Mac and Dan . . . they will always have Kabul." Both Will and Rivka smiled at her play on the movie, "Casablanca." "But it's a memory, part of the past, part of who they are today, to be sure, but not where they are today. Or where they want to be."

"I sometimes wonder why she came back to me . . . ." Will spoke at last, staring at the stem of his wineglass.

Rivka waited a second before speaking to see if he would say more, and smiled at the therapist that was still inside her. "I think she never left you, Will. After all, she literally carried you with her to Kabul. She didn't expect William to die. She expected to return to New York and confront the reality that she was going to give birth to your son. It was only after . . . everything . . . that she ran away to Iraq. But, by then, she was . . . in so much pain, I think, it was like a wounded animal bolting for the forest . . . movement was more important than direction."

"When I learned . . . When I saw her over there . . . reporting . . ." Will stopped playing with his glass and scrubbed his hands through his hair, and then lowered his head into them. "I felt so frightened and so alone . . . abandoned . . . ." Will looked up at Rivka again and she could see the gut deep pain reflected on his face. "I told her to get out . . . that's the funny part . . . she was doing what I said I . . . wanted . . . but . . . ."

"Who hurt you, Will?" Rivka asked the question with so much compassion that it all came pouring out of him, his father, the drinking, the beatings and verbal abuse that started before he could remember anything else of life. She was appalled. "And your mother . . . " she started to ask.

"She couldn't stop him!" Will interrupted, with enough force that Rivka blinked, thought, "wow," and schooled her face into a passive expression of psychologist's interest. "There was nothing she could do!" he continued passionately. "She was as afraid of him as I was. More. He beat her worse than he did me." 

Rivka looked at him wondering how to respond. Clearly in his mind, his mother, an adult, was cast as being as helpless as he had felt as a toddler. And apparently, to him, justifiably so. Thus, she was absolved of all responsibility for her failure to protect him. But the pain of that . . . that abandonment, to use Will's description of his feelings about Mac going to the Middle East . . . that betrayal . . . she could see it in his eyes, even if he could not. This was way more than she was going to take on in a social setting. Luckily, just as Rivka was trying to think of a way to redirect the conversation, Charlotte picked that moment to awaken.

 

Will was pacing with a grumpy Charlotte against his shoulder when Mac and Danny returned. Mac took her immediately, and settling in the rocking chair, started to nurse her daughter. She had liked Geoff, she told Will, and he'd reassured her that everything looked fine. He'd also looked at the lab results on her blood work from the day before and said that while she didn't have what could be called clotting issues, a couple of her numbers were in the low part of the acceptable range. "Must be that blue blood," Will joked. Mac just shook her head, but with a smile, and said that Dr. Marshall had suggested that she take a low dose vitamin K supplement and iron pills. "Apparently people bleed for six or sometimes eight weeks, and I might be one of them."

Rivka and Dan left shortly after Mac and Dan got back to the room since Avi's babysitter needed to get home and do homework. Charlie fell back to sleep after eating and having a diaper change, so Will and Mac were alone. They stretched out on the bed together and watched Elliot on News Night. Then Mac began to kiss and caress him. When he tried to reciprocate, she stopped him, saying "just lie back and let me do it, Billy," and explaining that it was very difficult feeling sexy "wearing Depends." So he did. He closed his eyes and thought about what Rivka had said about Mac's feelings for him and allowed her to kiss and stroke and lick him until he was rock hard and throbbing and could finally contain the urge to let go no longer. When his hearing returned, he heard her laughing a deep satisfied laugh. Yes, he thought, the heart's a really big organ.


	47. Littlebird Joins the Show

Charlotte McAvoy, ten days old, slept curled against her father's chest. Will McAvoy sat half supine in one of the over stuffed chairs his wife had added to the living room, choosing songs for a playlist he was creating on MacKenzie's phone. It was a little after 4:00 AM. Charlie had nursed and then uncharacteristically gotten fussy, so he had kissed his wife, told her to go back to sleep, and carried their infant daughter out of the bedroom. He'd walked a circuit in the apartment, with Little Charlie braced carefully against his shoulder, around the dining room, into the kitchen, out again into the living room, patting and rubbing her back, until finally Charlotte had belched loudly, spit up a tiny bit, and almost simultaneously deposited a large (for such a tiny person) load of runny yellowish stool into her diaper. 

"Now, that's gotta cure what's been ailing you," Will said to her, rubbing her back as he carried her into her room and deposited her on the changing table. "Let's get you cleaned up here and off to dreamland," he cooed, taking off her little footsie and removing her compostable diaper. God, he loved caring for Charlotte. It was like caring for Mac after she'd been shot but without all the lip. Unlike her mother, Charlotte had no problem whatsoever being helpless. Will cleaned his daughter and put on a new diaper, carefully avoiding her umbilical stump the way the nurses had taught him. Then he picked her up and looked into her eyes. He thought he could see them darkening a bit, losing some of their blue color. Or perhaps it was his imagination, driven by his passionate desire for Charlotte to have inherited MacKenzie's hazel brown eyes. 

"Hello, Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy," he whispered, and putting his mouth against the incredibly soft skin of her belly, blew a kiss. She blinked at him as if contemplating either the strange sensation or her feelings about the name her parents had given her. He watched his daughter in silence. God! He had a daughter! Even with nine months to prepare, the wondrous reality of it could still strike him suddenly and to the core. As he put her in a clean footsie, he recalled a conversation he'd had with Mac early in her pregnancy when she'd asked him if he'd ever looked into a newborn's eyes. He knew now exactly what she had meant about the whole person being present from the very beginning. He stared down into Charlotte's eyes and found himself thinking of . . . her brother. Those two words came into his consciousness, unbidden, strange, yet true. Mac had looked into William's eyes, Will thought, and he was sure that she had acknowledged his personhood in that moment, acknowledged his terribly short stay on Earth. He ached for his wife, and for himself. For reasons that Will would never be able to explain, he lowered his lips to Charlotte's ear and told her softly that she had once had a big brother named William. 

He thought about trying to put Charlotte to sleep in the living room Moses basket, or even go back and put her in the sleeper in the bedroom, but truth be told, he didn't want to give her up just yet. So he sat down in the chair, placed her on his chest, cradled her against him, rubbing circles on her back with one hand, the same way he did to soothe Mac after a nightmare. With the other, he worked on a new playlist that he was putting on his wife's phone, a gift from the Nightbird to MacKenzie from Midtown.

A little while later, MacKenzie woke from a dream about William. The little Will McAvoy look-a-like in the striped anorak. Green Park again. Why Green Park? She had no idea. She thought she would ask her mother, who was sleeping in the guest room, if she'd spent some inordinate amount of time there as a small child that she couldn't recall. Or, maybe not. She had no explanation for the genesis of the question if pressed by Lady Margaret's incisive stare. Best not to go there. It hadn't been a nightmare, though, just a dream. Slightly disturbing. No, she thought, not disturbing, sad. Just a sad dream. She didn't think she had cried out because she hadn't awakened Will. Then she realized that Will wasn't there. She was alone in their bed. She sat up and looked around by the dim light of her nightlight. Too dark to be morning, she thought. Then she looked over at the empty infant sleeper and smiled. Getting up and pulling on her robe, she walked out to look for her husband and daughter.

When she saw them, she froze before Will could spot her and just drank in the sight of them. It was September again, she thought. In two months, it will have been a year since Election Day. Only a year, and an eternity had passed. September 2012 had been one of the lowest points in her life. She had been sure then that by the next September, she would be unemployed, unemployable, separated forever from ACN and Will McAvoy, who would have a fresh reason to hate her for truly destroying his life this time. She expected to be living in London, or worse, in Surrey, doing nothing, well, probably charity work, forever the Earl's spinster daughter. 

But it didn't happen that way. There he was. There they were. Her family. He had bought her a ring and kept it in his desk drawer for a year. "I didn't return it . . . Because I'm in love with you." Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away. She must have sniffled a little because her husband's head came up and his eyes left the little screen he was working on and turned toward her. "Well, Littlebird," the Nightbird said quietly, "if it's not MacKenzie from Midtown. How're you doing, MacKenzie from Midtown?" he asked putting down the phone and holding out his free hand in her direction. "What brings you down here in the middle of the night?"

Mac walked up and stood beside the chair. Will's arm came around her body and he absently, automatically began to caress her leg and thigh. "Just woke up," she shrugged. "I don't know why, and then I saw that you were missing. Wait," she said as his words played again in her mind, "Littlebird?"

"Yes. The old Nightbird's been a solo act for a lot of years, I know. But it seems that now he's acquired a sidekick." Will spoke in his Nightbird voice and looked down at the tiny form sleeping on his chest. "She needs some training and experience, listeners, but I predict she'll work out just fine in the long run." Mac couldn't keep from crying now. "Hey, Kenz, what?" he asked, concern creeping into his normal voice. She just shook her head to indicate that she couldn't speak and smiled broadly at him, at them, through her tears.

Margaret McHale watched her daughter and son-in-law from the hallway that led to the guest bedroom where she had been staying for the last seven days. She felt slightly guilty and slightly voyeuristic for not making her presence known, but mostly she felt, as she frequently did observing them, like she was watching a beautiful love scene in a film. She couldn't make out many of their words, but the simple gesture of Will's hand on Mackie's body was so exquisitely tender, so loving and passionate, it put a lump in her throat. 

"May one join the party?" Lady Margaret asked, clearing her throat and walking toward them in a manner she hoped would look as if she had just emerged from her bedroom. 

"Mummy! What are you doing up? Did we wake you?" Mac asked, despite the fact that it seemed quite unlikely since she and Will had been talking in whispers. They needn't have bothered since Charlotte still had that newborn ability to sleep through the walls around her being demolished. 

"No, darling. I've been waking in the night. I was just going for a glass of water. I think my body clock's still set for the UK. It will undoubtedly adjust the day after tomorrow, in time for me to go back home." She reached out and caressed Charlie's cheek. "Look at that little angel," she cooed. "And, what a brilliant daddy!" She turned and gave Mac a squeeze. "He's a keeper, that one, if you want my opinion." 

"I couldn't agree more," MacKenzie chuckled. "He's the only man I've ever wanted to have children with."

Will yawned. "Well, girls, as much fun as hearing you both compliment me is, I think we should all try to get some more sleep. She's out," he said looking down at Charlotte, "and I'm not far behind." MacKenzie bent down and slowly and carefully removed the sleeping baby from his chest and cradled her daughter in her arms. Margaret marveled again at the fluid confidence with which both of her grand-daughter's parents handled her. Not that you couldn't tell that she was their first, but they were connected to the baby and each other on some primal level that made them able to anticipate and satisfy Charlotte's needs. Will stood, stretched, wrapped an arm around his wife, and kissed her temple. "See you in the morning," he said to his mother-in-law, and steered his family away. Lady Margaret McHale stood for a moment watching after them as the master bedroom door closed softly, a deeply maternal smile on her lovely face. 

She went into the kitchen and taking the pitcher of chilled filtered water that MacKenzie always kept in the fridge, poured herself a glass. Then she stood for a moment longer, thinking about her conversation with Will the day before. They had been alone together, putting away groceries after a delivery by Will's service while Mackie and the baby napped. She really hadn't intended to bring up the past. Contrary to her reputation, Margaret McHale felt that she could be extremely diplomatic and circumspect in her dealings with her family, but this time, what she was thinking simply overwhelmed her and emerged unfiltered out of her mouth. 

It had started when she had looked over at her son-in-law putting things into the fridge and thought about how much her daughter loved and needed this man. She surprised herself by saying aloud, "I don't think that MacKenzie was ever intended to live without you, Will." 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was overcome by a wave of painful recollections, Mackie delirious, calling endlessly for "Billy" and begging his forgiveness at Landstuhl . . . all of the strained conversations from the Middle East when MacKenzie had tried to sound happier, better than she was . . . and that disastrous visit in the summer of 2007, when Mackie had confessed that she had let Brian Brenner seduce her, and then after hiding it for over a year, revealed it to Will, who'd been deeply hurt and was too angry to talk to her. Tears sprang into Margaret's eyes and within an instant, they had welled up and poured over. Will turning from stacking yogurt containers in the fridge, stared at her, frozen in confusion. 

"Margaret? What? Are . . . y . . . you . . . ?" he stuttered, taking a step toward her.

She waived him off, shaking her head, fearful that if he embraced her, she would loose all hope of restoring her composure. Momentarily, Will's face became a portrait of rejection and pain. Then, a mask descended, and his features morphed into Will McAvoy, the face of ACN. But not fast enough. Margaret had not spent a lifetime in the diplomatic service for nothing. Where had he learned to hide his vulnerability like that and why did he so obviously expect hurt and rejection? She turned to him, stepped to where he was standing and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Will," she began, "it's been . . . I was just thinking of . . . I mean there were some very bad times. I was opposed to her coming back here . . . to ACN and . . . News Night, but Charlie was right . . . I know it was hard on her . . . sometimes . . . But even when she was hurting, she was alive again. It was all you, of course. When she'd talk about a story you two were working on, or Ted would compliment the way you'd done an interview, her eyes would light up . . . light up for the first time in years . . . ." She paused. He didn't know what to say. Partly, he was thinking that he'd caused that hurt that Margaret has just referred to, and partly he was thinking about the similarities between what she'd just said and Rosemary's description of him at his father's funeral. Charlie, their families, everyone knew what he wouldn't admit until Election Day. He and MacKenzie needed each other to be complete.

"Landstuhl . . . " Margaret was still speaking. She couldn't stop her tears so she just let them flow. "I was so certain that you'd come . . . and that if by some miracle she survived . . . " Margaret felt Will's arms tighten around her. " . . . You'd not let her suffer any longer . . . You'd love her . . . You'd forgive her. When Charlie arrived alone . . . I was so angry. I wanted to kill him. Teddy accepted it, but I . . . I had a harder time. Charlie told us that he'd lied to you . . . that you didn't know how bad she was . . . but . . . . Will, her heart stopped . . . in the operating theatre . . . . "

Will stared at his mother-in-law, and tried to absorb the punch in the gut. This was the second time in a matter of days that someone had said this to him. The morning Mac was leaving the hospital with Little Charlie, he'd cornered Danny privately and they'd talked about Mac's bleeding. Danny had told him what he'd never told Mac; that despite the efforts of the paramedics, she had been in cardiac arrest from blood loss when they brought her through the doors of the emergency room in Kabul. Will had told no one but Habib and Big Charlie, and only because he'd had to talk to someone because the thought of Kenz that close to death, dear God, dead really, was driving him to the brink of insanity. 

"Charlie knew?" he managed to choke out. Margaret's expression confirmed it. Will felt his anger spike, an instantaneous rising up of blind fury. Why the hell didn't Charlie tell him? He had almost lost her forever, and Charlie didn't tell him. She would have been out of his life irrevocably. Yes, that was what he had said he wanted. Christ! How was it possible that he had ever thought that, said that? But Charlie knew better than to believe him. Why didn't Charlie take him to Landstuhl? Will knew all of the reasons but still . . . . And then, just as suddenly as it had flared, Will's rage began to die away.

"Not Charlie. I should have called you or Ted . . . . Called her. Even if it was a flesh wound like Charlie said . . . . " Will shook his head slowly. Just the thought of a knife blade so much as scratching MacKenzie's body made him feel ill. The thought of what it had to have done to have destroyed her spleen and caused the scar that he saw and touched daily made him want to jump out of his skin. And in that moment, he let go of the last vestige of blaming Charlie. He had known that something bad had happened. He had known it was MacKenzie. "It's on me," he said to Lady McHale. "It's on me, not Charlie." She pulled back and looked at Will. He was still in pain, but the fear and rejection had left his eyes. She was thankful for that.

"What happened, Will?" Suddenly, Margaret could not contain herself. The questions she'd never been able to ask her daughter came pouring out. "Why did she go to Iraq? And Pakistan? Why did she stay over there after Afghanistan? The story she was doing was supposed to take a few weeks. Why did she leave ACN? Was it just that stupidity with Brenner, or was there more that happened between you? I don't understand! I've never been able to suss it out!" Her voice rose as the emotions she'd suppressed came flooding to the surface. "How could it have been just that wanker, Brian? He wasn't worth . . . Will, she told me in Landstuhl that she deserved the knife wound . . . she was out of her head, but I could tell that she believed it . . . She said that she deserved to die for what she'd done."

She heard Will moan, and felt him try to pull away. "God! Oh, God! Forgive me! I did that to her." Instinctively, Margaret held on tighter. "You should hate me!" The anguish in his voice tore at her. "I cut her off. I told her to get out of my life. Losing MacKenzie terrified me more than anything on Earth, and that's was I made happen. I committed emotional suicide. I severed the connection with the one person I needed . . . need . . . to live. And she paid the price. You should hate me. You should hate me for what I did to her."

"Shush. Will, I could never hate you. My daughter adores you. And, I know that you've always loved MacKenzie. William McAvoy, you loved her then and you love her now. I know that. We all make mistakes. You and Mackie . . . " She sighed. "You are so hard on yourselves. But, you are good and kind, both of you. Look at that precious little life you've made. I love you, Will." And then, some instinct made her say, "and I will always be your mother." She said those last words softly, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, even as he began to cry. 

 

The apartment was filled to overflowing with baby things. The gifts from strangers, which were mostly delivered to ACN, were screened by security, and then, at Lonny's insistence, re-wrapped so that Mac could open them. The gifts from friends, especially those who knew the McAvoy's home address, were generally simply opened by Charlotte's parents. Lonny had complained about this, but had given in and accepted that in Mac's words, he "can't control everything." Margaret had been there for about a week when one afternoon, she was helping Mac yet again deal with the day's arrivals, by UPS, FedEX, mail and delivery from ACN. MacKenzie opened a box that had come to the apartment, and pulled out a beautiful toddler-sized Annafie silk smocked dress.

"My goodness," Margaret murmured, "that must have cost £300. Who is it from?

"Don't know." Mac opened the card and began to laugh. "The Cambridge's."

"What's so funny?"

"Kate," Mac said and handed her mother the card. 

"Who?" Will asked, walking into the living room carrying Charlie.

"The Duchess of Cambridge," his mother-in-law replied. Lady Margaret looked at the card and said, "there must be a back story on this."

"There is indeed," Will replied after reading the card. So, he proceeded to tell Lady Margaret about his and Mac's excursion to buy a baby gift for Prince George. In late July, Tommy McHale had texted Mac the address to which she could send a personal gift to "Wills for George." When Will McAvoy asked how Tommy knew this, Mac had responded, "oh, he was at Eaton with Wills and he's in their set. He's younger than me, remember." Being MacKenzie, she decided immediately to send the future King of England an assortment of basic cotton baby wear from American Apparel. MacKenzie wanted to pick out the clothes in person, and so as large and uncomfortable as she'd felt at that point, they had taken themselves down to the American Apparel store in Chelsea. 

"Who's this for?" the salesperson, young, hip, pierced and clueless as to their identity, asked Will.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he'd responded before Mac could shoot him a dirty look.

"No, I meant, boy or girl."

"Boy," Mac replied, "the son of a friend in the UK."

"We have stores there now, you know. What's yours, or don't you know?" she asked, gesturing to Mac's girth.

"Girl," MacKenzie replied, holding up a onesie with an upper case and lower case S screen-printed on it. "Do you have this with a G in size 12 months?"

"I'll check. What's his name?"

"George."

"Oh, yeah," she chuckled. "I guess half the baby boys in England are getting named George these days." When Mac looked at her quizzically, she continued, "you know, because of the little prince."

"Oh, yes. Quite," Mac replied, as Will interrupted and asked the salesgirl to check and see if she could also find the same onesie with a C on it. "For Cambridge?" Mac asked him tentatively, obviously uncertain why he'd asked for a C. Now it was the clerk's turn to have a confused expression on her face.

"No, silly. For Charlotte."

And thus, both Prince George of Cambridge and Charlie McAvoy, the American grand-daughter of the Earl and Countess of Ailesbury, acquired an assortment of brightly colored onesies, pull on pants, t-shirts, infant gowns, rompers and cotton cardigans in various sizes. At her father's insistence, Charlie also got a onesie that had the outline of an apple on it and the words, "New York is for Lovers," and a t-shirt with an American flag, both of which even Mac agreed were pushing the envelope of the joke a little too far for baby George. 

Lady Margaret chuckled when Will finished the story. "So that's what she meant when she said that you were the only person who sent real clothes for a real human child and that since you had that turf staked out an Annafie dress was the most unrealistic, English and un-American gift she could think of. It is exquisite. You must have a portrait done of Charlotte wearing that dress when she's older. And, when you come to visit, she can wear it to meet Prince George."

Will was about to guffaw heartily at the idea of a child of his meeting a prince when he realized that his mother-in-law was absolutely serious.

 

Will McAvoy ended his paternity leave and returned to News Night on the twelfth anniversary of the first night he assumed the anchor's chair. September 11, 2013, he told his audience, was also the eleventh day in the life of his daughter, Charlotte "Little Charlie" McAvoy, who was in the studio with her mother and grandmother. When Will moved into his closing editorial, Margaret and MacKenzie watched from the bull pen with Little Charlie, who'd just finished nursing, and was dozing in a sling that held her against her mother's body, just below Mac's breast. Big Charlie, Leona, Reese, and Rebecca were all there too, eyes glued to the monitors. Earlier, Mac had gone into the control room, while Charlie slept, taken the headset from Jim, and to Will's surprise cued him for and took him through one of his live feed interviews. 

Will closed the broadcast with a reflection on the 9/11 anniversary. It began, as all of his best editorials did, with a personal story. He told viewers that on May 1st, 2011, "we gave a party at our apartment to celebrate the one year and one week anniversary of MacKenzie McHale's return to ACN and the advent of News Night 2.0." 

"A little revisionism there?" Mac stage whispered to Charlie, who, was standing with her, Margaret and Leona in the bull pen. 

Charlie screwed up his face in contemplation. Then he shook his head. "No. Not really. Maybe the 'our apartment,' but not the emotion." He looked at her, as his own emotions filled his own voice. "Before that night, Mac, do you know that I hadn't seen or heard him play the guitar or sing in three, almost four years?" He put his arm around her, and turned back to watch Will. Mac rested her head on his shoulder. The Night We Got bin Laden. The night of The Voice Message. MacKenzie couldn't resist the need to look down at her sleeping child, Will's sleeping child, just to check that Charlotte was real.

Will was still talking about the party, and specifically one of the non-ACN employee guests who had been there that night, "a beautiful, intelligent young woman named Kaylee, who is absolutely one of the best Guitar Hero players to ever walk the face of the Earth. This girl is awesome! Even blindfolded she can beat any ten men. Anyway," he explained that when the alert came in that there would be breaking news from the White House, and the party at his place broke up so that the News Night staff could go back to the studio, they brought their friends, lovers and spouses from the party along with them. "One of those people who came along to the studio was Kaylee." Will went on to explain that of course the White House's breaking news on the night of May 1, 2011, was the killing of Osama bin Laden. Thus, after the broadcast that night, he found himself at another celebration party with his co-workers and their guests, this one in the studio. And this was how he learned that Kaylee was the daughter of a Senior Vice President at Cantor Fitzgerald, whose office had been on the 105th floor of World Trade Center One, six stories above the point of impact. 

"That night," Will began, "Kaylee told me that on September 11, 2001, Cantor Fitzgerald lost 659 of its 960 New York employees, one of whom was Kaylee's dad. She had been twelve years old at the time, and too busy to kiss her father good-bye on his last morning at breakfast. We sat together that night while all around us people partied and congratulated each other on the defeat of our enemy, and Kaylee came to terms with the fact that bin Laden's death didn't make her feel as good as she had imagined it would. It didn't change her life. It didn't bring back her father. She didn't think that it would make her mother any less lonely. 

"This is a lesson we all learn in life. Death is permanent. There's no going back. There is only carrying on. Carrying ourselves and the memory of those we have lost forward. Each year, on this date, we have the opportunity to stop and reflect on the lives that were lost, or like Kaylee's, changed forever, when the planes collided with buildings or crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, and the towers fell and the Pentagon burned. And then, like Kaylee returning to the party the night we got bin Laden, or the construction that will shortly produce a new edifice at ground zero, we go back to the task of going on, the task of living. Because that is our final triumph over the forces that would defeat us. We live. George Herbert was wrong, living well is not the best revenge, it is the only revenge." He paused, and then began speaking again.

"So speaking of life and living, I've being told by my EP that we are going to leave you tonight with a short piece that was put together by the guys in the control room about the newest life here at News Night. I'm Will McAvoy, and thank you for watching us."

With that the screen filled with the feed from Monitor One, and the opening strains of Steve Winwood's song, "The Finer Things." It started with a picture of Will and MacKenzie laughing between labor contractions that Sloan had taken and then moved on to another of Will putting a cool cloth on Mac's forehead a little later, and one of Mac, hair drenched with sweat, but still incredibly beautiful, clearly threatening serious consequences if Sloan didn't stop taking her picture. And then to a very newborn Charlotte. Joey had used the Burn's effect to bring the still photographs alive, and there was one segment where he started in tight on a shot of Mac and Will, shortly after Charlie was born, clearly exhausted, but grinning at each other, their eyes locked together, while Winwood's sang, "the finer things keep shining through; the way my soul gets lost in you." Then the camera pulled back to show the full picture, which included Charlotte McAvoy resting in her mother's arms. There were pictures of Charlie with Margaret, Leona, Big Charlie, Sloan, Don, Jim, Maggie and the rest of the gang. In a couple, as she got older, she was already looking directly into the lens just like her daddy did. The montage ended with a shot of Will and Charlie napping in the living room chair, with Charlie, wearing an ACN onesie, stretched out on her back on her daddy's chest. 

Mac hoped she wasn't screwing up her karma, and blamed it on Will's bringing up the Night of the Voice Message, but as the screen faded to the ACN logo for the transfer to the Capital Report, she had the ungracious thought, "take that, Nina Howard." Oh, well, karma, be damned, Mac smiled. Living well really was the best revenge.


	48. Karma

Mac was tired and breathing hard. She felt fat and unfit. She had been out with her mother for more than half the day picking up "a few" things that Lady Margaret wanted to take home with her when she left the following morning for London. They were doing most of their travels by foot, and trying out Charlotte's new "pram," a bright orange Bugaboo stroller with the bassinet attachment in place. By the time they were in Bergdorf Goodman, shopping for a dress for Margaret to wear to an Embassy party in October, Mac's legs felt like she had a 10 pound weight strapped around each ankle. Her whole body seemed heavy, and even though they'd made a nursing pit stop in the ladies' lounge, Mac's breasts still felt uncomfortably full. By the time they were ready to leave, she really just wanted to go home. The only thing going for her was that the people she was with seemed happy. Her daughter was sleeping peacefully and her mother was very pleased with the dress she had just bought. And, they were almost done. MacKenzie was practically fantasizing about being home, cuddling up with Charlie and nursing until they were both asleep.

Then, MacKenzie saw her. God, no! Sweet Jesus, please, please, not now! Not today! But they were on a collusion course, and there was no way to avoid it. Mac, Charlie and Margaret were coming out of the 58th Street door at Bergdorf Goodman just as Nina Howard was striding up to enter. Nina saw her too. Mac only hoped that she didn't look as shocked and uncomfortable as Nina did. 

"MacKenzie! How wonderful to see you!" Nina, recovering an instant before Mac, exclaimed this so ebulliently that Mac stood momentarily frozen, wondering if she were going to get a hug and an air kiss from her husband's former lover.

"Good to see you too, Nina," Mac said in what she hoped was a voice more relaxed than she was feeling. The truth was that in comparison to Nina, coiffed and polished, tight and slim, MacKenzie felt shapeless, insecure and dowdy. However, she moved automatically to introduce Nina and her mother, who were eyeing each other. The importance of manners, as Ted always told his children, is that one can always fall back on them in a tight corner. Well, this certainly qualified as a tight corner. So, Mac graciously continued, turning to her mother, "Mummy, let me present Nina Howard." As Lady Margaret smiled, and extended a hand, Mac said, "Nina is a columnist (Mac couldn't bring herself to say, journalist) at a magazine that Lee used to own. Nina, this is my mother, Margaret McHale."

Nina, of course, knew full well who Mac's mother was, and so said, "Lady Ailesbury, it's an honor to meet you."

"Oh, please, call me, Margaret. And it's lovely to meet you, Nina. I always enjoy meeting Mackie's friends." Margaret wondered if she imagined it, or did Nina blanch slightly.

Nina looked away and then, for the first time, down at the sleeping baby. "She's so beautiful, MacKenzie," she breathed softly, sounding genuine and a bit envious. "I saw the video last night. You . . . It's right, you know . . . you and Will." She laughed a laugh that sounded brittle to Margaret's ears. "I'm not sure he deserves you, but Will now has everything he's always wanted. You can see it on his face. Not just in the pictures when he was looking at you or his daughter, but even while he was just anchoring the broadcast. It's there every moment, I think." Mac's exhausted and slightly addled brain was trying to think of a reply, when Nina hurriedly pressed on, eyes still cast down on the placidly sleeping Charlotte. "MacKenzie, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you . . . ."

Suddenly, Mac was furious. This woman, who had fucked Will, spent months trying to get him to forget her, was saying that she never meant to hurt her! But of course, it was Will who had started the affair, Will who had told Nina that he hadn't meant what Nina had heard on the voice message, Will who had . . . what? . . . used Nina to hurt her? . . . or to test her? 

"You didn't hurt me, Nina," Mac heard herself say with a calm that she certainly didn't feel. "Will hurt me." Mac paused momentarily as Nina's eyes grew large in shock. But, no, you're not getting off totally, Mac thought. "I would have preferred that you'd not lied to me about the contents of Will's message, but I can certainly see that the last thing you wanted was for me to come round to tell him I felt the same way and test his belief that he hadn't meant to tell me he still loved me."

Lady Margaret just stood stock still and watched her daughter. What was this about? Come round, she thought. Like Will, she'd also observed that under great emotional stress, her American daughter's speech became more British. To her credit, Nina looked Mac in the eye. "I am deeply ashamed of that, and I should have apologized to you a long time ago. I can't imagine that you care now," she gestured to the baby, "but I do apologize. I am sincerely sorry that I lied to you and deleted Will's message to you." This surprised Mac. She hadn't known that Nina'd destroyed the message. She'd never asked if there was a copy around that she could hear. "And, I am truly happy for you," Nina continued, "especially about the baby."

In some ways, Mac thought, Nina was a class act. And, the way Nina had just referenced "the baby," reminded Mac that Nina had been sitting on Hummel's statement all this time, even as Mac and Will became big news. "Apology accepted," Mac said simply, and extended her hand. Nina gripped it like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, Margaret observed. "And, Nina," Mac began again, most of her anger gone, "you've had my back for a lot of years, and I'm deeply grateful. I want you to know that."

"Always, Mac," Nina said. "You can count on that." The two women nodded.

The awkward silence that followed was mercifully short as "AWM 3" glided to a stop at the curb and the driver jumped out to open the door for his passengers and then deal with Charlotte's stroller. Nina said that she really needed to run and asked Mac to give her best to Will. Mac promised that she would, and turned toward the car.

Lady Ailesbury was a class act too, and thus, said nothing to her daughter on the way home about the strange encounter she had just witnessed. She was also a mother and her curiosity was drowned out by her concern that Mackie was pale and seemed withdrawn. More than just tired, Margaret mused, enervated. On the drive, MacKenzie talked little and that was mostly to sooth a hungry Charlotte. 

A few hours later, Margaret was sitting in a chair nursing a scotch neat thinking about Mackie's reaction to the conversation with Nina Howard when she heard her daughter cry out. She had earlier gone into the bedroom and quietly taken a sleeping Charlie out of Mac's limp arms and put her in her little cot. She had been keeping half an ear open for the baby's cries, but this wasn't the baby, it was MacKenzie's voice she heard, frightened and strangled. Putting down her drink, she walked quickly to the bedroom and opened the door. 

MacKenzie was sitting up on the bed and had pushed off the light throw that Margaret had earlier put over her sleeping daughter. With her knees slightly bent, her shoulders hunched forward and her forearms resting on her thighs, Mac was wheezing loudly and struggling to force air into and out of her lungs. Terrifying as it was, her mother knew to remain calm. Tommy'd had mild asthma as a young boy, and this appeared to be no different, only much worse.

"Mackie, darling," Margaret asked as breezily as she could make her voice sound, "where's your puffer, sweetheart?"

Mac gestured toward the bedside table. Not seeing the inhaler on the table top, Margaret opened the top drawer and found it there. Assuming that it hadn't been used in a while - Will had commented only the day before on how much Mac's breathing had improved - she shook the canister vigorously, replaced it in the mouthpiece and then released a puff into the air. "Here, you go, Mackie," she said handing it to MacKenzie. "Start breathing in and then push down." She wondered if Mac's distress put her beyond the ability to coordinate her breathing, and was relieved when it appeared that she got at least a little of the medicine into her lungs. Then, when Mackie was actually able to get in enough air to begin coughing, Margaret started to relax a little. "Wait a minute and then take another puff," she instructed, sitting down on the bed and rubbing Mac's back and shoulders. MacKenzie did as she was told and the albuterol started opening up her airways. A third inhalation, a few minutes later and Mac could speak again.

"Mummy . . . "

"Shush, darling, don't try to talk."

"Mummy . . . I dreamt . . . that . . . Will . . . left me . . . ."

"Oh, Mackie, sweetheart, you're just feeling a bit low today. It's to be expected and I dragged you around too much . . . ."

"What . . . if . . . he doesn't . . . want . . . . I'm fat and flabby . . . and she's . . . ." and with that the floodgates opened and Mac began to sob in her mother's arms. Crying was probably the worst thing that Mackie could do for her breathing, but Margaret sensed that there was no way to stop it. For MacKenzie it was all of the hurt, the years of hurt that came pouring out in great waves of sorrow, seeking the comfort that she had always denied herself, the comfort of her mother's arms. So much pain. The years away and the years after her return. The bimbos, and the bitter remarks that cut so deeply, and Nina . . . God, Nina! . . . How could he have done that to her? How could the pain be so intense? None of it came out in words, of course, only in screaming, grief-stricken cries. Margaret held her daughter and soothed her with kisses and reassurances that everything was fine, everything would be okay because Will loved her. Finally, Mac's sobbing abated into quiet tears and then into embarrassed sniffles. Hearing her still struggling to breathe properly, Margaret made her take another puff from the inhaler.

"You know, Mackie, the truth is that no one will ever have the same power to hurt you that Will has. That's just a fact of marriage." Margaret smiled. "Well, actually, I take that back. No one other than Will's children, of course. Charlotte will be able to hurt you every bit as deeply as her daddy can." The slightest smile played at the corners of Mac's mouth. "As for fat and flabby, Mackie, you gave birth less than two weeks ago. You're still bleeding. You haven't even been able to start exercising again. You will get your figure back, darling, " she said rising from the bed, "and be basically the same as you were before you had Charlie." She ran her hand down her daughter's cheek and cupped her chin. "It will come back just in time for you to wreck it all over again giving Charlotte a little sister or brother." She smiled a little more broadly at Mac. "MacKenzie, I weighed about seven and a half stone when I started having Ted MacHale's children, and now it's a struggle to stay under nine. Some of that's just age, but I won't lie to you, it would be much easier if I hadn't had three babies. But then I wouldn't have you, or Jules or Tommy, not to mention Will and Ness, or Tessa, Teddy and Charlotte. Heavens, even Carrie's beginning to grow on me," she said, referring to Tommy's "unsuitable" girlfriend. 

"Really, Mummy. What's the problem with Carrie? Her grandfather work in a coal mine?" Mac raised one eyebrow at ther mother.

"You know that's not . . . Don't you dare imply that I'm a classist snob, MacKenzie Morgan McHale McAvoy . . . ." And while most people managed to limit themselves to a smile when they heard Mac's full name, Margaret and her daughter both burst out laughing. "Gracious, Mackie! That's as bad as Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers! There's only so much alliteration one can take." She kissed her daughter and wiped away the last remnants of her tears. 

Just then, Charlie woke up hungry and wet, so Mac changed her and nursed her in bed while Margaret went to the kitchen and made them a supper of tomato soup and cheesy toast. Margaret sensed that Mac didn't want to talk about whatever had caused the dream or the outburst, and elected not to probe. Really, she was just pleased that Mackie had cried in her arms and no longer felt like she had to pretend that nothing had ever been the least bit hurtful in her relationship with Will other than of course, Mac's hurting him with the "Great Sin of Brian Brenner." 

Although Mac ate a reasonable amount, she was clearly still despondent and drained. She spoke uncharacteristically little and actually fell asleep nursing Charlie while she and Margaret were watching News Night. Margaret changed the baby and put her in her cot, and then tucked MacKenzie into bed and returned to the living room and her long abandoned Scotch. 

Not a teetotaler, but not a heavy drinker either, Margaret could feel the Scotch by the time she heard Will's key in the door. Given his arrival time, she knew that he had left the studio as soon as he was off the air and hurried home. 

"Hello," he greeted her, with a peck on the cheek. "All alone? Where's Mac? And Charlie?"

"Asleep." Something in her tone made Will raise his eyebrows quizzically. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, concern in his voice, even as he reminded himself that his mother-in-law would not be sitting in the living room quietly drinking Scotch if something were wrong with Mac or the baby. 

"I don't know," she answered, and then hastily said "yes, yes, of course, everything's alright," when she saw fear flash in his eyes as he turned to make for the master bedroom. "Will, wait. Sit down, please." She really didn't know what she was going to say. And, maybe it was the Scotch talking, but the next thing she knew, she had asked him, "who's Nina Howard, Will?"

He gaped at her like a guilty fish, and sinking into the chair beside her's, he sighed. He wanted to ask a dozen questions about where this was coming from, but instead decided to start with a straight answer. "Nina is a woman whom I used to hurt Mac and to try to convince myself that I could have a relationship with someone other than MacKenzie. I failed in the latter endeavor, but I was brutally and spectacularly successful in the former." Will scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Yes, you were," Margaret McHale said flatly, looking intently at her son-in-law. Why? Why would he have wanted to do either of those things, she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking. The anguish and remorse that had come over his features as he spoke made her certain again that there was something she was missing, something, maybe more than one something, that if she only knew what it was, might help explain how Mackie and Will could have done so much damage to each other. She realized that she was staring. Despite a strong desire to avoid her eyes, Will held her gaze. She credited him for that. "And this happened recently?" she continued.

"It started a little more than a year and a half ago," Will replied wearily. Margaret nodded. She had known that something was very wrong around that time because Mackie had suddenly started avoiding her calls.

"Why do you ask?" Will interrupted her reverie. 

"I met her today. Ms. Howard."

"You what?" Will's tone combined horror with incredulity. "Where? How?"

"We were coming out of Bergdorf's when she was going in."

Will sighed. He sounded bone weary and hopeless to Margaret. "And seeing Nina upset Kenz?"

"To be honest, I'd say they were both upset by the encounter, but, yes, Mackie was gutted. She hid it well . . . . until we got home."

"What happened?" When she didn't answer, Will repeated the question more forcefully, "Margaret, what happened?"

So, she told him. Told him that she'd selfishly kept shopping until Mackie was worn thin, told him about the conversation with Nina, the ride home, Mackie's hasty retreat into the bedroom with the baby, and finally about how MacKenzie had awakened from a nap in acute bronchospasm, and then, when she could breathe again, sobbed that she had dreamt about him leaving her now that she was fat and flabby. Somewhere in the middle of Margaret's monologue, Will jumped to his feet and began pacing around the living room like a caged animal. A few seconds after she finished, he seemed to get an idea, and turned to her.

"Excuse me, for a moment." He said, already moving toward the dining room.

"Certainly," Margaret replied, a bit unsure about what was happening.

A moment later, Will walked past her, carrying what looked like a frozen spill of molten silver and some candles, turned in the direction of the master bedroom, opened the door quietly and entered. He reappeared a few minutes later without the candles, but carrying a sleeping Charlotte in his arms. Walking into the living room, he asked if she would be willing to do "some grandma duty for a little while."

"There's nothing I'd like better," Margaret replied, standing up and holding out her arms for the baby.

"If you'd like, I can try to put her down in her basket," Will offered.

"Nonsense! Give her to me. I'm going home tomorrow so I need to hold her as much as possible before then." 

"Okay," Will replied, giving his daughter a soft kiss on the forehead and depositing her in her grandmother's arms. "There's milk in the freezer. You just get the bag with the oldest date and time on it and open it in one of the plastic sleeves and secure it at the top with this plastic ring attachment . . . . I can show . . . . "

Lady Margaret interrupted him with a laugh and wondered why he seemed so nervous. "Will, stop. I know how to do it. First, the system was around, well, certainly by the time Tommy came along, and then you're forgetting about Tess and Teddy. I'm an experienced gran." He laughed sheepishly. The rookie telling everyone what to do. "We'll be fine," she said, putting her cheek down to rub Charlie's downey head. "What are you going to do?"

He blinked twice in rapid succession like he hadn't expected to be asked. Then he took a deep breath. "I'm going to convince my wife that she's as desirable and gorgeous as I think . . . know . . . she is." Margaret nodded silent approval. "MacKenzie's thinking she could be unattractive . . . ." Will shook his head in disbelief. " . . . under any circumstances. " He looked at Margaret. "You know, every man she meets, well practically every one, falls under her spell. It's like one exposure and they're hooked . . . . addicts or zombies." Will made a gesture as if he were pointing to a long queue. Margaret thought that he could work this into a passable stand up comedy routine, certainly a memorable talk show appearance. "Shivitz wants to keep a roster of the men in love with her and hold annual gatherings in Vegas or on the French Riviera. Of course, most of us see each other all the time anyway. But MacKenzie . . . . " He shook his head again in bafflement, "Mac doesn't see any of them . . . ."

"Of course, she doesn't." How was it possible that he could not know, Margaret wondered. "You do know why that is?" she asked. When he looked dumbfounded, she laughed. "Will, she only sees you. Mackie only has eyes for you," they both smiled as she continued, "to coin a phrase. Aren't you aware when you two get going on something together how lost in you she gets? I've seen it in the studio, watched the rest of your staff react. It's like they all settle in for the start of a favorite show on the telly." She put her hands together and raised them to her chest in a gesture of excitement, "oh, goodie," she said, "another installment of 'The Marvelous Magical McAvoy's.' "

He looked inordinately pleased by her words. Where was Will McAvoy, the suave and confident face of ACN? Where on Earth did this insecurity originate? But rather than ask that question Margaret told another story instead. "Will, while you and MacKenzie were in Surrey years ago for Christmas and New Years, Jules came to me, worried that Mackie had gone mental over you, and fearing that she would get hurt. I realized then that he'd never seen his sister desperately want or need anyone or anything . . . really. He'd never seen Mackie vulnerable before, and it scared him." 

Will seemed to have gone off, or back, she noticed, into his own recollections. The Holidays 2007, the height of their first reckless disregard for birth control. Had Kenz carried William back from England with them, or conceived him right after their return? Twenty-two weeks to early June. Right after they came back, he assumed, but not long after. Will felt sick, and sank into the chair again. Margaret stood over him swaying with Charlie in her arms. Then, remembering his plan, Will rose to go to Mac, just as her mother said, "I asked Jules if he saw any indication that you were going to hurt Mackie, and when he replied in the negative, I told him that I wasn't worried."

You should have been, his eyes told her, you should have been good and worried. 

"You're a kind man, Billy," his mother-in-law spoke softly, bringing up the palm of her hand and placing it against his cheek. "You are a very good man, and don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Now, go, take care of your wife."

Will walked into the master bathroom, past a still sleeping MacKenzie and began to fill the Japanese tub that was virtually never used. Nina had tried on numerous occasions to get him into it, but he had always refused. He couldn't remember exactly why, but he was very glad he had. He and Mac had used it the weekend when she'd read Dantana's complaint and he'd found her on her bathroom floor. She enjoyed soaking and they'd had sex in it a few times after that, but mostly they were too busy for anything but a shower. While warm water poured into the tub, Will put the candles in the holder that he'd placed on the counter and lit them. Then he got his portable iPod speaker and found MacKenzie's phone, set it to the playlist the Nightbird had just created for her and clicked shuffle. "Everything She Does Is Magic" by the Police began to play softly. Turning off the lights, Will smiled.

MacKenzie woke to the feel of Will's lips and the comfort of his scent. Her favorite manner of waking. "Billy," she murmured sleepily. 

"Yes, my love?"

"I didn't realize you were home." Mac rolled over against him. "Where's Charlie?" she asked spying the empty infant sleeper.

"Grandma's . . . doing a little . . . babysitting," he replied continuing to trail kisses down her neck.

"Really? Will, there's music . . . coming from the bathroom. What's going on here?"

"Come and see." He rose and pulled her gently up from the bed, and then lifted her up into his arms. 

He'd called Denise after Mac's appointment the day before yesterday to ask whether nursing or not, his wife should be taking something besides iron supplements to deal with the slight anemia that had showed up in her lab results. Dr. Barrington had assured him that her bleeding was tapering off nicely and the anemia would go away just as soon as it stopped. She'd joked that he needn't worry that Denise would hold back on medication if she thought Mac needed it. "I'm more immune to MacKenzie's bullying, or should I say, charms, than Dan is," she'd joked. Then Denise had asked him what he and Mac were doing for sex. He was flummoxed, mostly because he didn't want to say that since Charlie's birth, it consisted primarily of Mac going down on him. (She had gotten so good at it that he'd commented once after the power of speech had returned that she could charge a thousand dollars a pop on the open market. Mac had replied that she thought she was making a lot more than that, and asked him what half of his net worth was.) Denise had said that Mac hadn't had an episiotomy and there had been only a couple of little tears, only one of which Danny'd had to stitch up, so in another week, it would pretty much be up to what Mac felt like doing. Right now though water, fingers, lips and tongue were all fine ways to bring Mac to orgasm, depending on how they felt about doing each those things while she was still bleeding. 

Will carried Mac into the candlelit bathroom. 

"Billy! What's all this?"

"Just a little surprise for the mother of my . . . children."

He stood her up and began slowly removing her shirt. Her breasts were full and curved and so beautiful in the candlelight that they took his breath away. He ran his fingers over them with a feathery touch that made her tremble. He brought his lips to her mouth and then to her throat, and then moved languidly down her shoulder and across the swell of her right breast. Gently he took her nipple into his mouth and teased it with his tongue until he felt her relax against him and an audible moan escape her lips. He closed his lips around it and without thinking, suckled gently. A second later, he felt a warm sweet liquid come into his mouth, and he heard Mac make a sound halfway between a gasp and an "oh." Swallowing, he raised his head to look into her eyes. 

"Do you want me to stop that?" he asked.

"No . . . I don't . . . think so," she replied, breathing hard from arousal. "It's a little disconcerting . . . Letting down . . . being turned on . . . ." She chuckled softly. "But I think my body can handle the difference between nursing Charlie and having sex with her daddy." Then, as she lowered her voice conspiratorially, he actually thought he saw her blush, although he doubted he could really tell in the soft light of the candles. "What does it taste like?"

"Sweet. Sweet and warm. Like liquid love."

"Billy, I love you," she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you beyond all reason."

"Come on, get naked and let me take you into the tub and show you how I feel about you." Will had no idea why it had never occurred to him to arouse her with the pulsing water from the hand held sprayer on the tub before Denise suggested it to him. Mac went wild, begging him to stop and then pulling his hand back when he took it away. He nuzzled her neck and took her up and over again and again, once causing her to cry out so loudly, he suspected that Margaret must have heard.

"Oh God, Billy . . . ."

"Kenz," he whispered softly stroking her breasts and torso, "you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. I desire you in a way I've never desired another living soul. Your body's just done the most amazing thing. You've given life to another human being, and you've done that for me." His voice broke and he stopped talking. 

He drew her out of the water, dried her and led her naked to their bed. He took her to orgasm again with his hands and then finally allowed her to work her magic on him too. They lay wrapped together for a long time. 

"You're all I want, Kenz. You're all I will ever want."

"Mummy told you about seeing Nina," she said at last.

"Yes," he said after a second's hesitation, while he debated denying it.

"I was just knackered . . . I'm okay now."

"Well, I should hope so," he joked. She playfully punched his naked ribs. 

"Mummy! Oh, God! Will, what does she think we've been doing in here?" 

"I can't imagine," he replied deadpan. "Someone that old couldn't possibly fathom . . . ."

"Billy!"

"Come on," he said, rising from the bed and extending a hand to his wife, "let's go keep her company on what's left of her last evening here and reclaim our child."


	49. Nina in the Park

Over the next few days, MacKenzie McAvoy tried valiantly to get Nina Howard out of her mind. Actually, more to the point, she tried to stop feeling the hurt and rejection that Will's relationship with Nina had engendered. She succeeded more than she failed, but every so often, there would be a moment when it would rush back the way grief does and overwhelm her into silence. 

MacKenzie's mother left on a British Airways flight around noon on Friday. Despite it's being the 13th of September, everything went swimmingly as all three McAvoy's and Lee Lansing accompanied her to the airport. Margaret said good-bye to her daughter and grand-daughter in the car, and Will and Lee walked her into the departure concourse. She held Will tight, told him again that she loved him, making him reflect that this woman must be the source of MacKenzie's forgiving nature and total inability to hold a grudge. She kissed him and gave him a few last words of advice on various topics relating to "his girls." She also made him promise to arrange a trip to see the relatives on the "other side of the pond," just as soon as Mackie was up to it and their schedules would permit. Lee promised to help facilitate the trip and also "to keep working on that other thing we talked about." 

When Lee and Will returned to the car, Mac announced that she wanted to come into the studio with Will and not be dropped at the apartment as had been the original plan. Will started to argue that she needed to rest.

"The woman's been sleeping on your office sofa for the last eight months," Lee interrupted him, "and she's got everything she needs for the baby in her bag. What's the problem with her coming to the studio?"

"How about a place for Charlie to sleep if Mac wants to put her down?" Will countered.

"A newborn can sleep anywhere. They don't roll around yet. You could put her in a desk drawer. But I just had one of those portable cribs delivered to my office, and you can borrow that 'til you order one for McMac's." Will looked astounded, but Mac just smiled. "While we're on the subject, I'm thinking of starting a day care facility at ACN. Well, I guess in our case, it will be more of an afternoon-evening care facility. What do you think? Would you use it for Charlotte?"

You mean bring Charlie . . . with me? . . . everyday? . . . Oh, Lee . . . ." Mac impulsively grabbed Leona into a bear hug. Over Mac's shoulder, Lee raised her eyebrows and smiled at Will. 

"You just want Mac back at work as soon as possible," he said.

"Damned straight, I do." Then she turned back to Mac and said, "I've got an agency screening nanny applicants. I'll have them email you the resumes and you can decide which ones you want to interview."

Mac nodded. "Where did all of this come from, Lee? I mean I'm so grateful, I can't thank you enough, but I'm just surprised . . . ."

"You forget that I was a working mother once upon a time. But, it's also something that Margaret and I talked about when we tried to envision where we go from here. Having the baby at ACN just seemed like it would be the best for all of you." She nodded at Will, who was just beginning to contemplate how very right she was. Charlotte would be right there with them, he thought. Mac could keep up with regular nursing. He could do a rundown meeting with his baby sleeping in his arms. Then, when they went on the air, this nanny could take her. Nothing could be better.

"Yeah," he said aloud. "Thanks, Grandma Lee." Will's eyes twinkled with mirth. "Won't be so bad for you either."

"Oh, I intended to get my baby fix on a regular basis." Leona leaned down and stroked Charlotte's forehead. 

As did everyone else in the newsroom. After being passed around while her mother napped, Charlotte attended the afternoon rundown meeting, sleeping through most of it on Will's chest. Charlie, Big Charlie, that is, and the others who could still remember the unhappy, irascible Will McAvoy of the days before News Night 2.0, smiled and shook their heads in wonder that this person, calmly wiping baby drool off his shoulder while discussing the newsworthiness of the upcoming Twitter IPO, could possibly be the same man. They were just getting to the chemical weapons treaty that Secretary of State Kerry was negotiating with Syrian President Assad, when a sleep-tousled MacKenzie pushed open the conference room door, asking if anyone had seen her child. When she saw Will with Little Charlie, she stopped and a soft loving expression came over her face while her eyes glistened like pools of liquid chocolate. Jim thought he had never seen her look more gorgeous. 

Will was thinking the same thing, and feeling his heart swell to breaking with love for this woman and the child they had made. Only Big Charlie, who had been sitting in on the final rundown in Mac's absence, moved when he saw her, jumping to his feet and going to embrace her. "Hello, kiddo," he said softly kissing her temple. "You are looking stunningly beautiful this afternoon. Motherhood certainly agrees with you. Come on in and give us your opinion of A block."

 

They spent almost the entire weekend alone, just the three of them. They took walks. Mac and Will ate Chinese takeout on Saturday. Time and again, Will watched MacKenzie nursing Charlie, a sight that would never grow commonplace, he was sure. One time when Charlie seemed to fall asleep in mid-swallow, her little rosebud mouth relaxing and releasing Mac's nipple, he impulsively leaned down and licked away the little drop of milk that clung to the tip. He could not recall, not even in the old days with MacKenzie, ever feeling this free, this much himself with another human being. 

The Nightbird spent some quality time with Littlebird, helping her eat in the middle of the night without awakening her mother, and then taking her out onto the terrace and playing music for her until it was time for a diaper change and sleep. When Charlie took a long nap each afternoon, Will took Mac to bed and fought her to submission when she tried to stop him from using his mouth to arouse and satisfy her. Her bleeding had decreased dramatically and Will had relaxed about it, at last confident that it was indeed going to stop fairly soon. 

Don and Sloan came to share an early steak dinner on Sunday afternoon. It was a pretty low key and relaxed affair. For only the third time since her pregnancy, Mac drank wine, which again went straight to her head. "Watch out for her, after nine months of sobriety, two glasses and she's three sheets to the wind," Will had whispered as Don was pouring another round of wine.

"Since when did you become a sailor, Nebraska boy?" Mac asked him loudly. "And, for your information, mister, I can look out for myself very well!" Will just rolled his eyes in Don's direction which he hoped his wife couldn't see.

Will had taken all of the pictures that Sloan had shot at Beth Israel and with only a tiny bit of editing to remove the few that he thought Mac would find truly embarrassing and invasive of her privacy created a slideshow to which he'd added Mac's delivery room playlist as a soundtrack. Then he had copied it and set it up to loop through each of the monitors in the dining room at slightly different intervals, muting the music on all but one. Mac had started to protest when they first sat down, but then relented when she saw how pleased Sloan was to have her photography skills appreciated. After a short while, Will, Sloan and even Mac had all gotten into the spirit, and inspired by the pictures, were regaling Don with recollections of their night together delivering Charlie. Don had found that for a short time, he needed to fight down feelings of envy watching them. The three of them, Will, his wife and his "little sister," had crossed some kind of Rubicon together with the baby's birth. But then he gave himself up to the enjoyment of watching the closeness and affection between them . . . three of the most important people in his life.

After dinner, while Mac gave "Uncle Donny" some basic lessons in infant care, Sloan helped Will with the dishes. As she finished drying a platter, she turned and looked contemplatively at Will. "You know, how everyone says you were stupefied by the sight of Mac in the newsroom when she first came back?"

"Yeah," he replied tentatively wondering where this was going.

"You weren't . . . well, you were, but . . . well, something else was going on, too." Sloan paused. "I saw Billy for a moment. Your face . . . for a moment, Billy took over, and . . . well, Billy knew that she would never hurt you again. He knew that she had come back to love him . . . you."

Will closed his eyes. Yes, he thought, there had been a moment when all he could feel was relief so strong it spilled over into joy. MacKenzie was alive, safe, breathing, in the same room with him. He could have reached out . . . .

"Billy knew the right thing to do . . . what he wanted to do," Sloan continued when she sensed he had returned to the present. "Billy would have walked right over to her and taken her in his arms and told her that everything would be alright, everything had to be alright because she was . . . home." Sloan's voice broke and her lips quivered. Will just stared at her. "And then before he could move, some part of you pushed Billy aside and he was gone . . . . "

"The monster," Will breathed softly. "I didn't even realize that you were there."

"Yeah. I was way off to the side. I'm not sure anyone saw me, but I saw you.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

"I don't know. I guess 'cause I just realized it. I mean I didn't know Billy back then so I didn't really know what I was seeing." She smiled at him. "I hadn't spent 18 hours in a room with Billy, helping Kenzie push his kid out of her body. You know, bro, if you could have hung on to Billy then, when you first saw Kenz again . . . " she paused trying to think of a kind way to end the sentence, sure that Will was finishing it with thoughts of all the ways he'd hurt Mac since April 2010. " . . . Charlie would be a whole lot older," she finally said.

Will snorted, a sad, ironic sound. "Sloan, If I could have hung on to Billy . . . ." He couldn't finish. He couldn't say the words, "William would be alive."

Sunday evening, after Sloan and Don departed, Will watched the Seattle Seahawks crush the San Francisco 49ers on the bedroom monitor, while both Charlotte and MacKenzie slept sprawled on top of him. 

This was his life, Will thought. This beautiful, breathtaking woman was his . . . his wife. This sweet little angel was his daughter. And he was good at this, this husband and father business. He could do this. He had done nothing to deserve such a chance at happiness, he knew. It was a gift from MacKenzie, from Kenz's incredibly loving and forgiving heart, a heart that he had broken and brutalized, a heart that had twice stopped beating because of him. His throat closed at the thought, and he was overcome by a wave of guilt and regret, so strong, he found himself clutching, fisting the bedclothes until it passed. But he couldn't change the past. Facts were facts. All he could do was try to understand why he had done the things he had, help MacKenzie understand as well, and convince her that he would never ever hurt her intentionally again. He wasn't going to fuck it up this time. This was his family. 

During the halftime talking heads, he muted the TV, and called his sister Rosemary. Rosemary was arriving on Wednesday to spend a few days helping out and getting to know her niece. He was pleased that Mac felt sufficiently relaxed with Rosemary that she did not view the visit as an imposition. He was also pleased because Rosemary's being there would mean that Mac would stay out of the newsroom for a little while longer. He understood her desire to get back. As much as he'd enjoyed being there for Charlie's first days, in a way, he'd been ready to return on the 11th. However, despite the nap in his office, Mac had been thoroughly exhausted, too exhausted, when they had arrived home Friday night after the broadcast. It wasn't time for her to be back just yet. Talking in whispers so as not to wake his sleeping wife and daughter, he confirmed his sister's arrival time and flight details. Then he snapped a picture of Mac and Charlie and texted it to Rosemary. 

 

Mac too had realized that the Friday excursion back into cable news had been a bit more than she could handle, and so she really didn't fight Will when he suggested that she stay home on Monday. They had both video conferenced into the morning pitch meeting, and she would do the same for the afternoon rundown, which he would attend in person. And so it was that at 8:17, Monday evening, Mac was sitting in her favorite sweats and Cornhuskers t-shirt, nursing and then cuddling Charlotte while watching her husband report the day's events, when the phone rang.

At first, Mac was disoriented by the ringing. It wasn't her cell phone. It was Will's . . . their . . . landline, a phone that almost never rang. Standing carefully so as not to awaken her daughter, Mac walked over and plucked the cordless phone from its cradle. 

"Hello," she answered tentatively, deciding at the last minute not to identify herself, even though she thought it unlikely that someone outside Will's circle of friends and family could have acquired the number.

"MacKenzie?" The voice was female, and the speech was slightly slurred and not immediately recognizable.

"Yes," she said. "Who is this, please?" Mac retraced her steps back to the sofa and sat down again.

"I thought . . . you might be there." Yes, the caller definitely had been drinking. Icy fingers gripped Mac's heart as the realization of who this might be started to form in the back of her mind.

"Nina?" she asked, "is this you? There was dead silence. "Nina, I can tell you've been drinking." More silence. "Nina, you've not taken pills, have you?" Mac's voice had risen a little bit each time she spoke, and was now laced with worry. "Nina, please, speak to me. You're starting to concern me."

Laughter, ironic and brittle, came from Nina's end of the line. "Jesus Christ, MacKenzie! You're concerned about me. You're too fucking much, you know that? No wonder you caught the brass ring!"

"Wha . . . at?" This last statement confused Mac at first, although she knew full well what it meant to get the brass ring. She had actually done it once as a child on a carousel on Martha's Vineyard. Jules had been so mad. 

"MacKenzie, what were you doing when the phone rang?" Nina sounded a little less drunk.

"Um, nursing, drinking herbal tea and watching News Night." Actually, she'd been EPing the show out loud and discussing it with Charlotte. Twice, she'd given Will instructions, once to wrap up an interview when he'd gotten what he needed and once to ask a certain follow-up question, which he'd followed as if she were right in his ear. Another time she'd observed to Charlie that "Daddy really should have pressed the Navy spokesman for more details about the shooter," in response to which, Charlie'd whipped her mouth off of Mac's nipple (ouch!) and let out a high-pitched screech. "Okay, okay. I get it, you like the way he handled it. I admit it's something of a close call," Mac had replied, whereupon Charlotte had turned her face back to Mac's breast, rooted for the still slightly throbbing nipple and placidly latched on again. Mac couldn't wait for Will to get home to tell him the story.

"Yeah." Nina continued. "Holding your beautiful baby girl and watching your husband, who repeatedly tells the world that he adores you. The brass ring." Nina paused, a long silence, during which, momentarily, Mac wondered if she'd passed out. "I can't get you out of my mind," Nina confessed. "I guess I feel more guilty than I'd thought. But it was always you for him. I suppose you know that." 

"Nina, why are you telling me this?" Mac asked.

"I wanted you to know . . . hear it from me that it was always you."

"And that should make me feel better? I'll grant you that Will was hung up on me, and even that he never stopped loving me. But for most of that time when he thought about me . . . it was how to punish me . . . and how to hurt me." 

Another long pause. Mac almost spoke before Nina resumed. "You called once, early on, before you learned about . . . . It was the middle of the night, and he took the call. He got up and went away and when he hadn't returned after an hour or so, I went to see what had happened. He was playing music for you and talking in this strange voice. He didn't see me. He never came back to bed. He sat in the living room all night. Shit . . . ." Nina sighed. "You used to talk a lot at night, didn't you?"

"Yes," Mac said as evenly as she could, wondering why she was having this conversation. "I'd started dreaming about . . . Kabul. I didn't tell Will why, but I'd call him sometimes . . . if it was . . . particularly bad. Nina, did Will . . . Never mind."

"No, did Will what?"

"Did he ever tell you . . . what the voice you heard was all about?"

"No." Mac felt relief flood through her. He hadn't shared the Nightbird . . . Hadn't given the Nightbird to Nina. Mac wondered how she would have been able to bear it if the answer had been different. Somehow being the Nightbird with Nina would have been a more intimate gesture than giving her his condom-clad penis. "No," Nina repeated into the silence. "Most of what mattered to him was kept locked away . . . Locked in a box labeled MacKenzie. If I'd had even a shred of the self-respect that . . . . " Nina's voice broke. "On a thousand occasions, I should have kissed him good-bye and told him to call you and tell you what he'd said on that damned message. But, I didn't. Like a fool, I stayed, hoping that maybe someday, he'd speak to me and his voice would sound like it did when he . . . told you he'd never stopped loving you. I'm sorry that I robbed you of the chance to hear it." She laughed sadly. "But I suppose you get to hear it everyday." Yes, thought Mac, I suppose I do. Nina continued, "I debased myself . . . humiliated . . . . "

Now it was Mac's turn to laugh. "I'll bet you never ended up on the floor, puffy and sodden after sobbing for forty-five minutes straight, and clutched at his leg, begging him not to leave you. How's that for debasing oneself? At least, he'd shut the door before I deposited my breakfast on the foyer floor."

"Jesus, Mac." Now, Nina was taken aback for a moment. "How did he find out about Brian? You know, when I got Hummel's statement from Reese, I thought I had it all figured out. I assumed that you'd gotten pregnant with Brenner's child and Will couldn't forgive that. Couldn't handle that it wasn't his child inside you, even though you'd miscarried. But then I interviewed Brenner and he told me when it was that you broke things off with him, and . . . nothing made sense any more. So, what? . . . did Will find letters or old emails?"

Mac almost refused to answer, almost asked if this was off the record, but something told her that either would hurt Nina deeply, and she found that she had no desire to do that. "No," she said flatly. "I told him."

"Why? Why on Earth did you do that?"

"Because I didn't think it would hurt him . . . certainly not the way it did . . . And I thought I needed to get everything out in the open because . . . because . . . . " Mac's voice sounded thin and childlike to Nina.

"Because you were pregnant?" Nina finished Mac's sentence. 

"Yes."

"And that didn't matter?"

"He didn't know."

"You never told him?" Nina's tone was at first incredulous, but then, she corrected herself. "No, I know you didn't. When he asked me what I knew last fall, he didn't know much of it even then."

"He broke things off too fast. I never had the chance."

"Why? Why, when you were on the floor, didn't you just shout it out before he could close the door?"

Mac was stunned. No one had ever asked her that particular question before. Then, the answer flew into her head and out of her mouth before she could censor or even process it. "His hurt was . . . He became feral . . . not violent . . . cold, controlled, but not himself . . . I don't know if he would have cared about a baby in that moment . . . and more than that, I wasn't sure I wanted Billy's baby to come in contact with that mon . . . that person. I needed to get Will back first before I could risk . . . ." Where had that come from, Mac wondered, and why had she unburdened this revelation on Nina Howard of all people.

"Nina," MacKenzie began again, "I'm sorry that it was you whom he used . . . Although I think that when he told you he'd moved on and I was just his EP, he wished for, wanted that to be true. I think he chose you because he thought that with you he might have a shot at making it be true. Maybe he'd wake up one morning and . . . . "

"Not a chance." There was a bitterness in Nina's voice that rocked Mac slightly. "Don't feel sorry for me. I was an idiot. I'd listened to that message a hundred times before I deleted it and I knew it was the real thing. I even told him that. And then . . . . I denied everything I knew to be true. The first night, the moment I lied to you about the message, and then lied to him about why you'd called, I dug my own grave. Maybe I didn't deserve the cruel way he did it, but it was never going to end any other way."

MacKenzie didn't mention the phone call with Nina when Will got home. They played with Charlie and ate a light late supper, and talked about his "gun sanity" and "violence in America" editorial. He'd called her that afternoon and they'd worked on his remarks for over an hour, keying off of the D.C. Navy Yard shooting in which thirteen people died on the day after the 50th anniversary of the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, which took the lives of four little Birmingham girls attending Sunday School. Mac had hung up with Nina just in time to catch the last ten minutes of the show. She'd watched him finish up and say good-night, knowing that within seconds, he'd be yanking off his ear piece, running for his office to change and trying to set a record for getting home . . . home to her and their little girl. The brass ring indeed.

Mac wasn't even feeling particularly upset as they climbed into bed, which is why the nightmare surprised her. It started with William in the park. Once again, she was very pregnant and trying to run to catch up with him. But then, it deviated from its normal course as Nina Howard appeared on the path ahead of William. He ran toward her, as Mac chased him ineffectually, hampered by her swollen body. Mac tried to call out to him, but she was too breathless and the sound didn't seem to carry. She watched as he reached Nina and Nina grabbed him up in her arms. "I'm taking him, Mac," she called out. "You don't deserve him. Not after what you did to him. I would never have done that to a child of mine." 

"No!" Mac shrieked, trying to breathe as her chest tightened. "No! He's mine! I didn't mean to . . . hurt him . . . Please . . . please . . . ."

Nina laughed, the same brittle laugh that Mac had heard on the phone, but somehow in the dream, there was a much crueler edge to it. "You had your chance, MacKenzie. Now he's mine. I'm taking him to his father." MacKenzie felt confused and terrified, as Nina continued, "Will doesn't want you." She smiled a huge, bright smile. "He doesn't want you anymore. He woke up." Nina laughed again. "And now he wants me and his son."

Suddenly, Mac was on the ground, on her hands and knees on the path. She couldn't stand. Her legs wouldn't support her. But she had to get to them, get William away from Nina. She tried again and again to rise only to fall back each time. She crawled, slowly and painfully. She screamed, "No! No!" over and over. Then, she simply couldn't breathe. She couldn't get air into her lungs. She couldn't exhale. Slowly, still laughing, Nina turned away from her with William in her arms. William looked at his mother over Nina's shoulder and she could see his eyes. They were an infant's eyes. 

She woke, thrashing, suffocating, straining to breathe. In an instant, Will was moving beside her, grabbing her, sitting her up. "Christ, Kenz! Jesus! What is it? What is it?" he repeated, struggling to come fully awake. 

"Can't . . . breathe," she wheezed, although there was barely enough air going in and out to make a sound. "Can't . . . ."

"Okay, okay," he said, trying to calm himself sufficiently to function. He reached across her and grabbed the rescue inhaler from where Margaret had put it on Mac's bedside table. He shook it and primed it and tried to give it to her. She was hunched forward. He could see where the skin at the base of her throat where her collar bone met her sternum was sucked in from her efforts to breathe. She raised the inhaler to her mouth and pressed down, but couldn't really get a breath in. 

"Can't . . . " Will heard her almost inaudible whisper. Her hand dropped limply to the bed and the inhaler rolled out of her fingers. He remembered that one of Margaret's final bits of advice to him was to "get a spacer for Mackie's puffer." He promised himself he'd figure out what that was right away. In the meantime he needed to get the medicine into his wife's lungs. 

"Here, let me help," he said and tried to coordinate pushing down on the canister with Mac's ragged attempts to inhale. It worked a little better since all Mac had to do was concentrate on breathing, but Will could tell from the terror that he saw in his wife's eyes that it wasn't good enough. "Okay, Kenz . . . " He looked her directly in the eyes, hands on her heaving shoulders. "Everything is going to be alright. You're home. With me." Strangely, he found himself using words from Sloan's fantasy of what Billy would have said to her that first day if he'd been allowed to speak. "I'm just going as far as the bathroom . . . to get the nebulizer." She nodded as he got up from the bed.

Where was the fucking thing? It had been unused for so long, he wasn't sure. He pulled open cabinets almost at random, ignoring only the ones he was certain it would not be in. Yes, there! Okay, he tried to calm himself, looking at his hands shaking as he picked an albuterol ampule out of the packaging and took it and the nebulizer back to the bed. He connected the tubing, attached the face mask and plugged the nebulizer into the wall. Once he could have done this in his sleep. Now, he felt slow and clumsy. "Almost ready." He tried to affect a reassuring tone. Mac, who seemed unable to speak, nodded again. He opened the ampule and poured the medicine into the chamber and closed it, screwing it on the mouthpiece. The mist started when he turned the nebulizer on and it appeared that he'd done everything right. Thank God. He placed the mask on MacKenzie's face and drew her to him. "Okay. It's all okay, now."

"Still . . . can't . . . breathe . . . ."

"Give it a chance to work." He rubbed her shoulders. "Try to relax." She shot him a look that said he was out of his mind. He grabbed his phone from the night table and started to time her treatment. At just about two minutes, her wheezing actually grew louder, but he could feel her begin to take slightly longer, slower breaths. "Okay. Okay. It's working."

"Billy . . . ." It came out mostly as a wheezy gasp.

"Shush. Don't try to talk, Kenz. Not yet. Let me just hold you." She nodded. He rubbed her back and held her against him as the drug worked its magic and the muscles constricting MacKenzie's airways relaxed. When the medicine chamber was empty, Will turned off the machine.

"Billy," she said, starting to speak again. She sounded virtually normal. Maybe a little wheezy still, but she could breathe again. 

"What happened?" he asked.

"I had a nightmare. It was the dream about William in the park, but this time, Nina was there . . . and she . . . took him." He heard her breathing become more rapid and a little breathless as she started to describe the dream to him.

"Kenz, don't. Don't upset yourself. You can tell me about it later, okay?"

"No! I'm okay. She said that . . . I didn't deserve William because of the things . . . the things I'd done to him." Will moaned and pulled her closer, kissing her hair. "She said . . . she was taking him . . . to you . . . That you wanted her and him. I couldn't catch her . . . In the dream, I'm always nine months . . . pregnant." She tried valiantly to smile at him, but even by the nightlight, he could see the hurt and sadness in her eyes. "I fell down . . . and couldn't get up . . . couldn't run to get him from her. Then she turned away . . . and he looked at me. I saw his eyes . . . " Mac shuddered and fought back tears. When she felt somewhat composed, she continued, "they were . . . the eyes . . . his eyes . . . that I looked into . . . in Kabul." 

"Oh, God, Kenz. My darling. My love. What? What can I do?"

She clutched him tightly. "You're doing it, Billy. I want to see Habib when he can work me in. I'll call tomorrow. Now, kiss me. Help me forget the dream. Put me to sleep, before Charlotte wakes us both up."

As he did, she lay back on the pillows, wondering why she hadn't told him, why she didn't want to mention Nina's call.


	50. Session with Habib

"Did you not expect that giving birth to a healthy baby would trigger your guilt about William's birth and death?" Dr. Habib asked, when she'd finished describing the last two "Nina Howard" nightmares and their aftermath. Before she could answer, her cell phone rang. She shot him an apologetic look for not silencing it and looked at the screen.

"Dr. Fischer, the pulmonologist," she said, turning it off. "I suspect that he's just finished a nice little chat with Mr. McAvoy. I'll call him back later." She returned her gaze to Habib. "I really scared Will to death last night. I mean, I scared me, but I terrified him when I couldn't use the inhaler." Habib thought about asking her if she had ever been checked for asthma, but then realized that all of what they were using to treat her post-gunshot wound breathing issues were the same medicines and protocols that would be used for asthma, so a diagnosis was rather irrelevant. Habib would have been amused to know that Mac's mother had gone through the exact same thought process before deciding to simply tell Will to get a holding chamber to attach to Mac's rescue inhaler so that she could take in the medicine even when her breathing was rapid and shallow.

"I don't know," MacKenzie replied slowly. Habib smiled at the thought that he knew her well enough to realize that she was returning to his question. "I suppose I never considered that. I'd wondered if I'd freak out at the labor pains . . . You know, relive Kabul. But until the blood, it was so different. Will and Sloan were there. Danny and Denise. And Charlie. She was there too." MacKenzie looked down at the small form cuddled against her in the sling. "I knew I was giving birth to this unique little person, who was already Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy." Habib smiled at the tone of her voice. So much love there that held so much healing power.

"Tell me what happened when you saw the blood?"

"I will in a minute, but first tell me why Charlie's being so heathy should provoke nightmares about losing William?"

Habib usually turned questions back onto the patient with another question. He almost winced when he would ask, "why do you think?" He'd said it so many times in his short career. He couldn't imagine how many times Abe must have said it. But MacKenzie wasn't the usual patient, and so, he answered. 

"Let's see," he said smiling at her. "How about because other than barfing for the first three months, you sailed through. In reverse order: birth weight right in the sweet spot, optimal for development." He held up one finger, and continued adding fingers in the air with each point. "No episiotomy. No epidural. No bed rest. No preeclampsia. Your ankles didn't even swell until Charlie was overdue."

"How could you possibly know that?"

He looked down at his notes. "Will mentioned it when he was here."

"He did?"

"Yup. No elevated blood sugar. No gestational diabetes. You went into labor in the control room, if I recall, with Will on the air. His reaction made him one of the best loved and most respected new fathers on the planet. Did you see the current issue of "People" where he tied in some popularity poll they did with Prince William?" He walked to his desk, picked up a copy and handed it to her. It was open to a page that contained a blurb entitled, "In the Daddy Game, The Wills Have It." She chuckled and shook her head at the insanity of celebrity. 

"So," she ventured, "the point is that it's not my body. It was me, my actions and decisions that harmed . . ." she took a deep breath, " . . . killed . . . William." She paused, cast her eyes down. "But I've always known that," she said softly either to Charlie or to the hands in her lap.

"And you are still processing the emotional ramifications of that knowledge."

"And the pain that will never go away." She was silent for a long time, staring into space as she absently rubbed the side of Charlie's sleeping body. Finally, she spoke again. "And the pain of Nina." She closed her eyes. "When I found out that he was dating her . . . Had been dating her . . . living with her, really . . . for months . . . ." She looked at him. "I know it sounds cliched, but . . . I honestly don't remember the knife . . . the stabbing . . . hurting half as much. My senses shut down for a minute. My hands tingled and I was numb and nauseous. I wanted to run away . . . and I wanted to run to him and just pound my fists on his chest and ask him why . . . why was he doing this . . . to me . . . to us." Her face was flushed with anguish. "I felt like my skin hurt. Like it hurt to move or breathe . . . Like it hurt to live." Then as if the remembered pain propelled her into motion, Mac jumped to her feet. Habib was amazed that the movement didn't awaken Charlotte, but then he thought maybe she could sleep through MacKenzie's rising because she had been inside MacKenzie so recently that she was still united with her mother's movements on some cellular or cosmic level. Now Mac paced as she spoke, her hands steadying the baby. "When his father died," she continued, "he went home . . . he went to . . . Nina. I can't stand the thought that . . . he went to Nina . . . for comfort." Her eyes were deep pools of agony. She turned away.

"I don't think he did," Habib said softly, but MacKenzie was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't seem to hear him. So he said it more directly, "Mac, that night, he was alone and he wasn't thinking about Nina." What the fuck was he doing here, Habib wondered, running his hand through his hair. Was this couples therapy or did he have two patients who happened to be married. He was coming dangerously close to disclosing a therapeutic discussion he'd had with one patient to another, but the intensity of the pain in her eyes made him want to do something, made him desperate enough to do anything . . . .

Suddenly she whirled around. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. "I can't seem to forgive him . . . for Nina. I can't. I'm sorry but . . . I can't . . . " Whether it was Mac's sudden rotation or just happenstance, Charlie awoke and shrieked her displeasure. Immediately, all of Mac's attention was directed to her baby. Her arms came around Charlie and she brought the infant's little face up to hers. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to wake you." She kissed Charlie's forehead and rocked her slowly, whispering indistinct words of comfort. "It's okay. Everything's alright. Mummy's just a little upset with Daddy, well, a lot upset, really . . . ." Habib heard her say as her daughter started to quiet. Mac kissed Charlie's chubby cheek. "At least you will grow up knowing that people can get very upset and angry and still love each other desperately."

"Then she will be one extremely fortunate little girl." Again, it didn't seem to register on MacKenzie that Habib was speaking.

"Is that why he did it?" Mac asked, incredulously, as if the idea had never previously occurred. "Because he wanted to give me something so big, so painful that I'd be able to understand why he had such trouble forgiving me for Brian? But he did forgive me. And, I feel like I haven't really forgiven him," she finished guiltily.

"No, he didn't," Habib said. MacKenzie heard that one and gasped and then gaped at him in shock.

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, I guess he did eventually, in a way, but not last Fall, not last November when he asked you to marry him." She continued to stare. "He didn't forgive you, Mac. What I think happened was that Will finally told his inability to forgive you to just get the fuck out of his way. He was coming through. He stopped letting the whole forgiveness trap prevent him from going after the thing he wanted . . . the person . . . he loved most in the world. There's a difference." When she didn't speak, he went on. "The question, forgive or don't forgive," Habib held out his two hands, and raised each in turn as he looked from one hand to the other, "keeps the primary focus on the concept of the other person's trespasses. What Will did was change his focus. That was the point of his latching onto the paper shredding kid story, I think. When he unlocked his desk drawer, grabbed up your ring and ran out on Charlie Skinner mid-sentence, he wasn't thinking about forgiveness, he was thinking that he was a couple hours away from losing forever his last, best chance for the life he wanted. I was wrong when I told him that the trick was to forgive you, the trick was to forget about forgiving you."

She looked contemplatively at him and then down at Charlie who had become increasingly fussy during his monologue.

"I'm going to have to feed her," MacKenzie said simply. "We could stop for today, or, if it won't bother you, I can just . . . ."

"No, let's not stop." He didn't want her to go and he sensed that there was something unfinished for her, too. "Will's paying for 50 minutes." He smiled. "Want me to step out while you . . . ". He made a vague gesture with his hands and looked incredibly young.

"Won't be necessary. I'm getting good at doing this in public, or at least with friends." She shot him what he thought was the first genuine smile he'd seen this session, as she sat and adjusted Charlie and her clothes behind the cover of the sling. "There you go," she crooned to Charlie. "Here's what you're looking for. Yes, you've got it. That's it. Okay. Have a good Elevenses."

"I told you you'd have no problem with motherhood," Habib said grinning at her. "Your such a natural, Mac! And you look fabulous!" Still looking down at Charlie, she glowed with pleasure. Her face was a little fuller than when he'd first met her, but it was the fullness of good health and great happiness. She looked younger, too, Habib thought, with her hair in a ponytail, from which a few strands were making their escape. Wearing rolled up jeans, sandals and a light cotton Henley, unbuttoned (behind the sling) to allow Charlie access to one of her breasts, she could pass for his age, barely 30, with ease. 

Clearing his throat and tearing his thoughts away from his appraisal of Mac's appearance, he continued, "so, tell me what happened when you saw the blood." 

But Mac wasn't done yet with the subject of Nina. "Nina Howard asked me why I didn't scream out that I was pregnant when Will was walking out the door . . leaving me." She met his eyes. "No one's ever asked that. I told her that it was because I was protecting the baby . . . I called him 'Billy's baby' from the monster . . . I said person . . . that his father had become. It just popped up and out of my mouth. I hadn't remembered thinking that before, but I know it's true. I'm getting better at identifying what's a memory."

Habib was used to pronouncements out of left field. Everyone in his business was. But this one had so many levels. Jesus! Nina Howard! The construct of the mother protecting the child from the father! Okay. He took a breath, trying to devise a strategy for probing how Mac had come to make this admission about William, her most closely guarded secret, to Nina Howard, the villain of nightmares so vivid and horrific that she'd awakened both times in respiratory distress. "When did this happen?" he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"She called me last night."

"After you saw her at Bergdorf's with your mother?"

"Yes. She called on Will's land line while he was on the air figuring I might be home. She'd been drinking pretty seriously."

"You spoke to her for a while, I take it."

"Yes." She described the call. "She lied to me about the message and she fucked Will when she knew it would hurt me. But she's also the person who's been sitting on Hummel's statement all this time. For that, I owe her big time. And she was hurting, genuinely, I feel sure. And drunk. I was worried about her . . . "

"You're too much, Mac!"

"Funny," she giggled. That's exactly what Nina said. That, and that it was no wonder I got the brass ring." She watched as Charlie made sucking sounds that even Habib could hear in the silence. "I did, didn't I? The brass ring, I mean. I went around and around on that damned horse, long after staying on seemed like a sane choice to anyone, except maybe Big Charlie. But I held on and reached out every time that it went by and then suddenly, it was in my hand . . . On my finger. And then Charlotte was in my body." She smiled triumphantly. "And then when you get the brass ring, it's all worth it. The long ride. Even the pain of years ago . . . ."

Suddenly MacKenzie knew why she hadn't mentioned Nina's call the night before when she told Will about the dream. "I've not told Will about Nina's call," she said aloud. "I'm afraid to say anything like this to him. I mean anything about hiding . . . William from him . . . who he'd become . . . that morning." She turned and looked at Habib. "I think you may be wrong about all of the land mines having been dug up. I think that there's one more still buried . . . the one that has Elizabeth McAvoy's name on it."

"Yes, I believe you are right. But that one, when it goes, is going to blow inward, I think. Not that it won't cause you pain, but he will never reject you again, never hurt you or Charlie like that." She looked slightly skeptical for a moment.

"I know," she sighed the words. "I'm just afraid of what he might do to protect himself from having to face . . . ."

"Her betrayal," Habib supplied. 

"Did you know that she took him to hospital," Mac resumed, "four or five times when he was hurt . . . when his father hurt him badly. Once when his arm was broken, once when it was his nose. For a concussion, I think." Mac stood and began rocking Charlie to sleep. "She lied to the doctors and nurses. Made him lie too. Made him . . . " Mac's breath hitched. ". . . say that he'd fallen off of his bike, or been clumsy and walked into a door." Now tears began to fall. "He was a little . . . boy . . . just a little boy. How do you hear that? What does it do to you . . . to know that your mother would lie to protect your attacker, but not tell the truth to protect you . . . that you're not important enough . . . for your own mother . . . to tell the fucking truth . . . about what happened to you?"

"You know what it does, MacKenzie. It makes you expect lies. It makes you expect betrayal, and hurt and it makes you conclude that you are not worthy of anyone's love or honesty."

"I know I have no right to judge . . . after what I did . . . but, I don't understand how she could . . . be so helpless . . . Never even try to protect him. He was her child for God's sake!" Habib looked at her wondering how in God's name she could equate being too bereft, too gutted, to eat or sleep properly with allowing another human being to mentally and physically brutalize a child. 

"Mac, if you'd miscarried right after the shooting . . . "

"That's not the same thing," she interrupted hastily. Why this need to husband, almost cultivate, her certainty that failing to protect William was an action over which she'd had complete control, Habib mused. Sometimes he really enjoyed his calling, he thought, at least to the degree to which the intellectual puzzle that was MacKenzie McHale could be enjoyed in the context of empathizing with her intense emotional pain.

"Not exactly the same thing," he repeated, conceding but emphasizing the second word. "However, you had no more control over Will's reaction to your disclosure about Brenner than you did over the presence of a madman with an assault rifle at AWM on Valentine's Day." 

"I was physically traumatized the second time. I had holes ripped in my lungs . . ."

"You were physically traumatized the first time too," Habib said with considerable professional detachment. Then he was overwhelmed by his desire to get through to MacKenzie and take away some of her pain and terrible guilt. His voice rising, he exclaimed, "that's what I've been trying to fucking tell you since your eyes rolled up into your head and you went limp in Will's arms while trying to remember it." Speaking of seeing Will terrified, he thought, but didn't say.

A smile played around Mac's lips and she lowered her head in a bob of agreement to a point well scored. Habib was suddenly reminded that he was in the room with a woman who had the intellect to have once held the same post as John Maynard Keynes. "I know that there are direct links between the emotional and the physical . . . " Mac sighed, and in a few smooth and demure motions, repositioned Charlie to finish her "Elevenses" at Mac's other breast. "It's just inbred, I guess . . . this expectation that I should have total dominion over my emotions. It goes with all of those frightening portraits in the gallery, I suppose."

Habib's processing lagged a second as his thoughts automatically went to a public gallery like the Guggenheim. It took a second to imagine the little girl . . . they called her . . . Habib started to glance down at her file when it came to him . . . Mackie . . . that's it . . . in a large manor house (or was it a castle?) studying the ermine trimmed faces of generations of Ailesbury Earls. 

"Well, do me a favor," he said, smiling back, "don't pass it on to Miss Charlie there." He watched Mac look down and beam at her baby. 

"I need to tell Will about Nina's call. I don't need to give him a word for word, but I do need to say it happened. It will be easier later to just tell him some details that I'd omitted earlier than to have to say that I never told him I'd had a long conversation with his inebriated ex-lover. I'm not going to mention the protecting William part. It wouldn't be wise. Rosemary's arriving tomorrow and she pushes him, pushes his buttons too if you know what I mean, on the subject of his mother fixation." Mac giggled, "Rosemary refers to the mother figure Will has created as 'St. Elizabeth the Martyr.' Talking to her has helped me enormously. I assume that they might get into it a bit while she's here and I don't want to do anything that might interfere with their dynamic."

Habib was dying to ask more about Rosemary, but instead he said, "time's up." Then he paused and studied her again as she buttoned up her shirt and started gathering up the baby's things. "Ask Will, MacKenzie. Ask him to tell you about the night his father died."

After Mac and Charlie departed, Habib spent the next ten minutes making notes. He was sure that the key that would open the door to Will's experience of his mother's actions and choices had just departed. Will was going to watch Mac be a mother for years and years. Most likely, actuarial stats being what they were, 'til the day he died, Habib thought. Eventually, he would be unable to do that without experiencing the truth of his own childhood. Mac was frightened that if she did it wrong, woke the sleeping tiger wrong, Will would choose to not be with her and their child in order to protect his illusion of the saintly brutalized helpless mother. Not totally irrational considering her experience, although Habib felt certain that whatever happened, Will would not respond by rejecting his wife and child. Mac also knew that there was enormous pent up pain and anger that would erupt when the seal on the illusion was broken. Another IED still buried under their lives. Fear of this, guilt about William, not to mention Nina Howard's newfound, inebriated desire to assuage her own guilt and pain through MacKenzie's kindness was indeed quite a cocktail prescription for PTSD nightmares. He'd been glad when Mac asked for another appointment on Thursday and two for the following week. 

Habib would be right. The IED would not detonate for almost another two years, and when it finally went, it blew inward. Better yet, there were enough foreshocks that Mac had sufficient warning to be able to orchestrate things so that when it happened, Will was, to paraphrase something Rebecca Halliday had once observed, in the best possible place to absorb the intensely painful. Three months later, they would baptize him, Walter Duncan McAvoy, a name his mother picked. When he was six months old, "Vanity Fair" magazine would publish an Annie Leibowitz photograph of his dad holding him up one-handed through a basketball hoop, and forever after, his family, friends, and eventually co-workers would call him "Dunk."


	51. Shoes

"Are those your shoes there or a work of art?" Rosemary asked gesturing to the spike heeled navy-blue calfskin Christian Louboutins that were sitting on Will's bedside table, with the toes touching as if they were kissing. It was Friday morning and Will was in the shower getting ready to go to ACN for the morning pitch meeting. 

"Oh, both, I suppose." MacKenzie smiled broadly at the shoes, then at Will's sister. "They were . . . are . . . mine, but I haven't worn them in over six years." She ignored her sister-in-law's quizzical expression, which Rosemary correctly took as a clue that this was something that Mac wanted to keep between herself and her husband. "You didn't have to bring me breakfast, Rosemary," Mac said, nodding at the tray in the older woman's hands. "You're here as our guest." 

"I'm here to take care of the woman who made my oldest brother a father . . . " Rosemary shook her head fondly at the thought, "and who just gave me a new niece." 

"I think that he likes to view himself as the man who made me a mother," Mac responded lightly. 

Her gaze, joined by Rosemary's, fell on Charlie, twenty days old and sucking happily at her mother's breast. "I'll take her when she's done so you can eat in peace," Rosemary volunteered. She had arrived on Wednesday and had taken over the household with calm Mid-Western efficiency. 

Just then Will emerged naked from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and said "whoa," when he found his sister in the bedroom.

"You haven't got anything I haven't seen," she assured him calmly, as he gathered jeans, boxers and a shirt from his chest of drawers and retreated back into the bathroom to dress. Mac thoroughly enjoyed the by-play between her husband and his sister.

As she felt Charlie's sucking motions slowing down, MacKenzie tentatively pushed down on her nipple to break the suction and see if her daughter would protest. When Charlie let go agreeably, Mac put her up on her shoulder and rubbed her back until she burped, and then gave her to "Aunt Rosie." Will emerged from the bathroom, just as a knock on the apartment door indicated that his driver, one of Lonny's men, had arrived. He kissed his wife, daughter and sister, confirmed with Mac that she was not planning to dial into the pitch meeting, and hurried out, whistling, "hi ho, hi oh, it's off the work we go." 

Mac ate and stared at Will's arrangement of the shoes. God! The shoes were back together! She shook her head and smiled to herself. Why hadn't she thrown the left one away? Well, she reasoned, partially because it had spent three years in a storage box ten thousand miles away from her since Louboutins and the Iraqi desert were not a match made in Heaven. She had tried once to part with it, she remembered, when she was endeavoring to "commit" to the relationship with Wade. Which was, she had to admit, a giant step away from committing to the man himself. That had never been in the cards. Not as long as Will McAvoy walked the Earth. She had ended up sleeping with the shoe, or rather holding it through her insomnia, for several nights after she faced the fact that she would never part with it . . . that it was a symbol of Will's broken heart . . . of their broken hearts, which, she feared, were never going to heal. And now, it was half of a symbol of their marriage. 

The night before, after Rosemary had gone to her room and Charlotte was sleeping soundly beside them, MacKenzie had asked Will about the night his father died. He told her that he had broken a date with Nina and gone home alone. He had taken a shower and begun to cry, sitting down under the stream of water and sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Billy," she said simply and softly and opened her arms to him. 

"I wasn't crying for him, Kenz. I stopped crying about him a long long time ago." Whatever you say, she'd thought but did not speak. "I was crying for me. I kept seeing your face when I told you he'd died. It was so apparent that you loved me, that you were hurting for me. But, I couldn't act . . . I couldn't . . . I'd never felt so lonely. I sat for hours tapping your contact page on my phone and staring at it until the screen went off. I'd hold my finger over the number. A quarter of an inch. I just had to lower it a quarter of an inch."

"You should have."

He didn't respond. He just went on speaking. "Then, I did something that I hadn't done in months. I dug out your box from the back of the closet, and . . . "

"My box?" All she could think of was Nina's statement that Will kept what was important to him in a box labeled MacKenzie. "What was in my box?"

"Everything that you left behind. Everything that I could find of yours when I returned to the apartment. Plus photographs and things that were too painful to . . . my mother's necklace," he said fingering it where it lay against Mac's sternum. "That night I took out your Cambridge University sweatshirt."

"You have that? Really? How did I leave that behind?

"It was in the bottom of the laundry hamper."

"Well, I was in a state when I was packing." He ran his fingers sadly and gently over her cheek.

"I grabbed it out so it wouldn't be washed . . . so your scent would linger a little longer."

"Will, did you ever tell Nina about the box of my things?" He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, and Mac realized that the question was a bit out of left field.

"Why do you ask? Do you think I would?" He sounded horrified and insulted.

"No! No, of course not, Billy. It was a stupid question. It's just that Nina called me on Monday night, and we talked and she said that you kept everything that mattered to you locked away in a box with my name on it. I thought at the time that she was speaking metaphorically, and I guess she was . . . But then you mentioned the box and . . . ."

"Nina called you on Monday night?" he repeated slowly. "Where was I?"

"Reporting the news."

"She has your cell number?"

"Probably. I have hers. But she called on your . . . the . . . land line." She told him about most of the conversation. She could tell that he wasn't pleased that Nina had called her, although she imagined that it had more to do with Nina's ending up in the cast of a nightmare that had triggered a bad breathing episode than concern that they were swapping stories about his prowess between the sheets. When she got to Nina's description of being in his bedroom while the Nightbird played music for her, Mac suddenly said, "Dream Weaver."

"What?"

"I just remembered the name of another of the songs that you played to help me sleep the night of the Rudy Hug, the night the Nightbird came back to me."

"Ah, yes. Another Cambridge sweatshirt night." 

She looked a little confused. "Do you still have it? The box? May I see it?"

Wordlessly, he rose from the bed and walked to his side of the dressing room. He got the step stool and retrieved something from the highest shelf. It was a plain cardboard box. Returning to the bed, he handed it to her. She opened it, looked in and squealed with delight. Then she reached in a retrieved a single shoe.

"You've had this? All this time? You saved this?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes filling with tears even as a nostalgic smile spread across her face. "Wait here," she commanded, as she got up and began rooting around in the back of her own closet. A moment later she emerged, with a triumphant grin and a matching shoe in her hand. She sat back down on their bed and put the left shoe on her foot. She was reaching for its mate when Will put his hand over hers to halt the motion.

He held the shoe in his hand and knelt before her. "The owner of this slipper has stolen my heart," he said solemnly. "I have been traveling the kingdom in search of her to make her my wife," he finished, slipping the right shoe on MacKenzie's outstretched foot. Then he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her instep. "The night my father died, I got this shoe and the sweatshirt out of the box and climbed into bed. I held them against my face and cried and cried until I had no more tears left."

"You should have called me, Billy. I would have come to you . . . kept you from being alone. No strings . . . no demands."

"I know," he replied, standing up and then sitting beside her and cupping her chin in his hand. " I knew it then. I knew it when you looked at me in the studio. But if . . . if I'd had you . . . here . . . I'd have wanted to make love to you. And what kind of damage would that have done to you?" he asked, putting a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She shrugged as if to say it couldn't have been worse than the damage that had been done. But he shook his head. "What if I'd refused?" she asked.

"You wouldn't have," he replied so softly she wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly. "You're too loving, too compassionate. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't be sure of myself . . . that I wouldn't do what I did . . . Get scared again the next morning and call Mrs. MacBeth." 

"How did you know . . . ?"

"Your nickname for Nina? It was one of many that I overheard in the bull pen in those days. Yours was probably the kindest." Suddenly, he pitched over and put his face in her lap. "Oh, God, Kenz! I'm so sorry for hurting you. So sorry for inflicting her on you. I don't know . . . I need to figure out what the fuck I was doing . . . I know that. We need to understand it. But I do know one thing. I know that I did this right." He sat up and taking her left hand, turned the palm up and kissed her engagement and wedding rings. "I needed to commit my life to you before I took you to my bed again."

"I still wish you had called me . . . " But even as she said it she wondered if she would have survived Will's touching her again and then going back to Nina. "Billy, make love to me, now."

"That's one request that you'll never hear denied." Then, reading something on her face, he continued hesitantly, "you mean . . . you want . . . Isn't it too soon?" His voice rose slightly with concern. 

"No, not . . . you won't hurt me as long as you get me ready." Then, suppressing her accent and lowering her voice in an imitation of Betty Bacall, she said, "you know how to get me ready, don't you? You just put your lips . . . "

"What did I do to deserve you?" he interrupted. "Why am I so blessed?"

"I'll answer that," she replied, "I'll tell you what you did to deserve this life. You made yourself who you are, Will McAvoy. You didn't let their beatings and lies conquer you or destroy the good, the just, the loving little boy inside you . . . " and then his mouth was on hers, and the world receded until there was nothing but the sensation of his touch. At some point, she was naked, wearing only the shoes. At another, she moaned, "dear God, Billy, I'm beyond ready." But she was warmed by the love in his careful movements and had the thought that he was acting like she was a teenaged virgin. "Don't be afraid," she whispered as he finally started to slide slowly and tentatively inside her. "I'm fine, and I've missed you." He'd wanted to last longer, to take her up and over again and again, but at the first hint of those dark eyes unfocusing and her muscles tightening around him, he felt the beginnings of the familiar pumping sensation deep in his center and after that there was nothing for it but to simply enjoy the fall.

 

Rosemary's visit was fun and relaxing. She helped Mac interview the finalists for the job of caregiver at the ACN Childcare Center, which was soon to open with its first two clients, Charlotte McAvoy and the infant son of one of the dayside female producers. Two days before she was scheduled to return home, Mac and Will brought Rosemary to spend an afternoon and evening at the studio observing as they put together a show. She loved every minute of it. At one point, she returned from watching a cooking segment being taped on another floor to find her brother in the middle of the bull pen, a baby blanket draping his shoulder, holding Little Charlie against his chest, and debating loudly with his wife and his acting EP, Jim Harper, how best to handle an interview on the launch of "Obamacare." Rosemary just stopped dead in her tracks, as her emotions welled up and swamped her composure.

"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" She heard Sloan Sabbith say in her ear. "We're getting kind of used to it, but still . . . . He was such a wreck when Kenzie came back. 'Course she wasn't much better. Now look at them."

"Christ, Mac!" they heard Will bellow just then. "Aren't you still supposed to be on maternity leave?"

"One more week, Billy boy," she replied menacingly, "one more week and you're all mine again." Mac tossed her head and walked into her office. 

"I want to be reincarnated as their next kid," Sloan said to a smiling Rosemary. 

 

The night before Rosemary left, Danny, Rivka and Avi came for dinner. Through Loraine, Mac found a kosher caterer (gotta love New York) who delivered everything including the dishes. The food and wine were delicious, and Rivka and Rosemary hit it off as beautifully as Mac had imagined they would. Danny however was uncharacteristically quiet, even slightly morose. When Mac asked, he denied that anything was bothering him, and after a pointed look from his wife, joined more animatedly in the conversation. After dinner (which both Avi and Charlie had miraculously slept through) Rosemary, Rivka, Mac and Will were engaged watching Avi's fascination with Charlie and guarding against his inadvertently hurting her in his zeal to touch her. Dan saw his chance to slip away and went out onto the terrace for a moment of isolation. When Mac noticed his absence, she went looking and found him.

"Beautiful night," she said walking up to stand beside him.

"Yes," he replied. "I love the quiet and space in the suburbs, but there is nothing quite like Manhattan at night seen from a penthouse apartment. How are you doing, Mac?" 

She wondered if he had heard from Dr. Fischer or Will about the nightmares. Something in his tone suggested that he had. "Fine," she said. "Wonderful, really." She turned and looked back through the glass doors to where her husband, sister-in-law and friend were playing with the babies. "I've been dreaming about William," she confessed, "but it was only bad once."

"I lost a baby today," he said abruptly.

"Oh, Danny. I'm so sorry." She put her hand on his arm. 

He stared down at it as he continued to speak. "Twenty-five weeks. Rivka made me swear I wouldn't tell you." He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Neo-natal couldn't save him. God knows they tried. She . . . his mother . . . his parents . . . did everything right." He brought his eyes up to meet hers. "She kept all of her appointments, ate organic foods, slept well, exercised, took her vitamins, and last night, her water broke and she went into preterm labor." Mac said nothing. She just continued to look at him with sad eyes and worry her lower lip between her teeth. "You didn't kill William, MacKenzie." She turned away from him quickly, and he brought his hands up to her forearms and turned her back. "Listen to me, please. I know a woman, a member of my father's congregation, who was born at Sobibor. Sobibor. Her mother had been there for seven months when she was born. Seven months of forced labor on five hours sleep and watery soup with essentially no nutritional value at all. Seven months of living in filth and disease. And her baby was born alive. They hid the infant and somehow someone smuggled her out and now she's seventy-two and a grandmother." 

"I know," Mac replied. "Logically, I know that it's not a simple case of cause and effect."

"And my patient today. She's healthy and wealthy, and has me," he gave Mac a self-deprecating smile, which he held until she returned it in spite of herself. ". . . and none of it mattered. Sometimes, Mac, we just have to admit that we're not in control in this life, and that's hard, that's very hard. I know. Sometimes, we just have to accept that bad things happen to good people, and, like Will said on 9-11, our job is to go on living."

MacKenzie shivered, and even though the night was still relatively warm, she could feel the beginnings of Fall in the air. Dan drew her into an embrace. "And our lives," he whispered in her ear, "are waiting for us in there." She squeezed him.

"Then let's go," she said. "I love you, Danny. Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for healing me."


	52. Depositions

"Gather round, boys and girls," Rebecca Halliday announced as she entered the newsroom, "it's present time."

"What kind of presents?" MacKenzie asked suspiciously.

"The deposition notice kind," the lawyer replied gesturing with the sheaf of paper she was holding in her hand. 

"What?" Neal moaned.

"Go away!" Sloan shouted from her office. 

"Now, is that any way to treat your friendly neighborhood lawyer?" Rebecca called back.

"What's going on?" Will asked, walking in the door with Charlie Skinner.

"Mike Laurance, Dantana's lawyer, has served AWM with deposition notices for you, Charlie, Lee, Reese, Sloan, Maggie, Don, Neal, Jim, Kendra, Gary, Tess . . . the usual suspects. Anyone who came near Genoa. Oh, yes," Rebecca said nodding toward Mac, "and of course, one for the return engagement of the spectacular, MacKenzie Morgan McHale McAvoy." Mac groaned loudly. "You wouldn't want to be left out, would you McMac, while all your friends go off to play?"

"Of course not, Becca." Mac returned, also employing Leona's nickname for her friend and counsel.

MacKenzie had been back to work for three weeks, and things were settling into a routine. There was a portable crib in Will's office where Charlotte did most of her daytime sleeping. They had decided to put it in his office because, unlike Mac's, it was large enough to have a sofa, and therefore became the place where Mac did most of her nursing and took the afternoon nap that she still needed most days to get through until the News Night wrapped at 9:00. During the day, when Charlie was not sleeping or eating, Will and Mac took turns carrying her around either in the sling or in their arms. Then at around 6:00, when the serious pre-show crunch started, she would be delivered to the Child Care Center on the 15th floor, where she would stay until her parents picked her up at 9:30, unless "Grandma Lee" picked her up earlier. This happened with enough frequency that both Will and Mac got over the heart flutter that finding the Center locked up tight had occasioned at first, and just calmly pushed the "UP" elevator button and went to Leona's office to claim their offspring. 

Will was America's favorite new daddy. His viewership had never been higher and his trust numbers rivaled those of his idol, Walter Cronkite. It seemed that for the American public, the Genoa Report was but a distant memory. For a long time, it had seemed that way to the News Night staff as well. There had been almost no activity in the case since the hearing on Rebecca's successful effort to block inquiry into Mac's time in Kabul, an event that many were unaware of since Will, Mac and Rebecca had kept off of the general radar to the maximum extent possible. So, it seemed to most people, that until Rebecca walked into the bull pen bearing deposition notices, nothing had happened in Dantana's lawsuit since Mac's deposition over five months before. Now, many of them were going to have to get into gear and relive Genoa again. No one was happy. 

"Who's going first?" Will asked the lawyer, hoping that it wasn't going to be Mac. 

"He's doing it the traditional way this time," she replied, "starting at the bottom and working his way up. Gary, Tess, Kendra and Neal in that order." They each groaned loudly, and muttered a few choice expletives. "Then, Jim, Don, Sloan . . . and Maggie." Sloan and Jim exchanged grim expressions.

"Yes," Don hissed and pumped a fist in the air. "I can't wait for that fucker to question me!" Will and Rebecca traded glances that were half amusement and half "we have our work cut out for us here." Mac only smiled having been the recipient on multiple occasions of the "your deposition is not the place to try to win the case" and "every word you say beyond 'yes' and 'no' increases the risk that you will give the opposition useable evidence" speeches from both Rebecca and Will.

Maggie didn't groan. Maggie just stared straight ahead, stared at nothing. Her hair was blond again. It was still short, partly because she'd been cutting off the red as it had grown out, but at least it was her natural color again. Everyone took that as a sign that Maggie was healing at last. She and Lisa had patched up their rift so Maggie had some support and comfort at home. Mac looked at Maggie and her heart ached. She knew how fragile that kind of healing could be. Like her's, Maggie's deposition would go beyond the events of Genoa. Like her's, Maggie's sanity, or at least stability, was under attack. And so, when a few hours later, MacKenzie noticed that Maggie was missing, and most of the people she asked couldn't remember exactly the last time they had seen her, Mac told Will what she was doing so he wouldn't worry about her absence, and went looking for Maggie.

Mac found her sitting on the floor in the same dark abandoned editing bay where Mac used to hide when being with Will, being punished by Will, became unbearable. "May I come in?" she asked, deciding not to turn on the lights. When Maggie said nothing, Mac entered and sat down beside her. They just sat in silence for a long time. 

"They are going to make me talk about David," Maggie said so quietly that Mac had to strain to hear her. 

"Rebecca will keep them from probing too deeply, but, yes, you will have to talk about what happened. Can . . . will . . . you tell me about it?"

Maggie nodded ponderously, and began. Some of it Mac had heard before, but much of the detail was new to her. "They think he died instantly," Maggie whispered, "but he didn't." Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. "I saw . . . " she hiccuped, and gave a sad laugh. Then she looked into MacKenzie's eyes, which in the ambient light coming in from the hallway, were deep dark pools of pain and empathy. "I saw," Maggie repeated, as sobs tore from her throat and wracked her body. 

Mac's arms came around her as the younger woman sank into the embrace. "Oh, sweetheart," Mac said, in a voice Maggie heard her use with Charlotte. "It's so hard. I know it's hard."

"I saw the life . . . go . . . out of . . . his eyes." Maggie felt MacKenzie tremble. "I was . . . looking at . . . him . . . at David . . . his face . . . his . . . eyes . . . the moment . . . he died." Mac just held her and stroked her hair, rocking Maggie slightly the way Will rocked her.

"And that's why you don't sleep," Mac said softly, "because you see . . . his eyes . . . you dream about his eyes."

Slowly, Maggie raised her head to look at Mac, as she brushed away tears. "You know," she stated, amazement in her voice. "You know." Mac trembled slightly, but held Maggie's gaze. "You've seen someone die, haven't you?"

"Yes," MacKenzie whispered. "Twice." And, even as the word surprised her, Mac knew that it was true. She hadn't been unconscious, she had been looking into her baby's eyes when his chest stopped heaving and the light in them went out. 

"In the Middle East?" Mac nodded. "Soldiers?" Maggie asked.

"One was. His name was Mickey. Mickey Dolan. We were riding in a convoy. The lorry ahead of us hit an IED. Everyone was killed instantly. Our lorr . . . truck," Mac corrected, "was hit with flying shit . . . metal, parts of the exploded truck, body parts . . . some of the nails and shards that had been in the IED. Mickey . . . " Her voice cracked, as a look of horror spread across Maggie's face. 

"Mac, if you don't . . . want . . . . "

But MacKenzie shook her head and continued. "Mickey shielded me. He took the brunt . . . of the explosion." Mac wiped at her cheeks and seemed surprised to find them wet. She wore a slightly dazed expression that Maggie recognized well. "The guys . . . in the vehicle behind us . . . Jim . . . thank God . . . and the others radioed for help. But Mickey's leg . . . part was . . . gone . . . he bled out . . . before . . . I held him."

"Oh, God, Mac," was all that Maggie could think of to say. Then remembering Mac's words, she asked, "how can you deal with it . . . I mean . . . seeing it twice? The other wasn't a soldier?"

Mac took a deep breath to steady herself and slow the pounding in her ears, her heart with it's little trick beat. She looked at Maggie and decided that she couldn't destroy the honesty of this moment with a lie. Whatever it cost her, there could be no lies. "No," she said. "The other was a child." Maggie seemed to physically recoil from the word. Mac just held on more tightly. "Actually, an infant. Newborn. He was premature. Very premature."

"What? Where? Iraq?"

"Afghanistan, actually. In Kabul." Mac closed her eyes, and seemed to be gathering her strength to continue.

Kabul. Where Dantana claimed Mac had tried to kill herself. Did this death have something to do with that, Maggie wondered. "You were at a hospital when some woman . . . " she started to ask.

"No. I was at a hotel."

"You were there when this baby was born? His . . . the baby . . . his mother died?"

"No," Mac said with an unsteady voice. "No. I . . . was . . . am . . . ." She took another breath, and opened her eyes to look at Maggie as she spoke. "I'm . . . his mother."

"What! What!" Maggie gasped, as if the reality of Mac's words simply would not, could not penetrate.

"After Will and I broke up . . . He didn't know about the baby," MacKenzie added hastily. "Three months after . . . when he still . . . wouldn't answer any of my messages texts or emails . . . wouldn't let me explain that I hadn't seen . . . Brian . . . for more than a year . . . I asked Charlie to help me get away from New York for a while. He assigned me to EP a fluff piece on troops in Afghanistan building a hospital or an orphanage." Mac shook her head, dismayed at her inability to remember which it was. "I didn't say . . . didn't tell him that . . . I was pregnant . . . or he wouldn't have let me go." Maggie nodded solemnly, realizing that she needed to just let Mac finish the story on her own terms. 

"I was . . . a little over five months. I went into labor . . . at the hotel. He . . . my baby . . . was born . . . he was breathing . . . but he was too tiny . . . too early . . . ." Maggie pressed her lips together and then pressed the hand that Mac wasn't holding to them to keep from crying out, but she couldn't keep her tears from falling. Mac wasn't crying now. Just talking as if she were reciting a litany. "He didn't live long." Mac swallowed, and shivered. Maggie held her closer. "But I remember . . . his face . . . his eyes. He had that dimple in his chin . . . Will's chin." A small whimper escaped Maggie's lips. "I baptized him . . . named him William . . . and then . . . I . . . held him . . . and looked at him . . . his eyes . . . and he died." 

"Oh, Mac! Oh, Mac, I'm so . . . so sorry . . . so sorry . . . ." Maggie repeated over and over. 

"It hurts," Mac said softly, a sob ripping from her throat. "It still . . . ." And they held each other and cried. Cried for David and for Mickey and for William and for each other.

After a while, Mac spoke again. "Dantana's complaint . . . You've read it?" Stupid question, she thought even as she asked. 

Maggie nodded, as she fished a couple of tissues our of her pocket and handed one to Mac. "He knows?" she asked incredulously. Now it was MacKenzie's turn to nod. "Did you . . . After . . . Did you . . . ?" Maggie started to ask but couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

"No. Well, not really." Mac sighed. "I bled a lot. Dr. Shivitz says that I'm just one of those women who bleed like a stuck pig after giving birth." She gave Maggie a weak smile. "I'm not sure that's a compliment coming from an Orthodox Jew." Maggie didn't seem to get the attempt at levity, so Mac just continued. "I didn't call for help. I just bled until I lost consciousness. The maid found me. That's what Jerry knows. He knows the man who was the manager at the hotel."

"Did you . . . are you going to . . . have to testify about this?" Maggie asked in a voice laced with fear. 

"No. Rebecca got the judge to rule that it isn't relevant to Genoa." She looked at Maggie, pulling back and putting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. "You've got to trust Rebecca, Maggie. You've got to tell her everything, pull no punches, alright?" Maggie nodded. "She's on our side and she's a formidable ally. She protected me. She'll protect you and get you through. But you need to let her hear it all and then do exactly as she instructs. Promise me?"

"I promise." 

"Good." Mac took another breath to collect herself. "Okay, good," she repeated. Then, looking at her watch, she jumped. "Dear God! We need to get back. Pull ourselves together and get back in there." Maggie stood up and extended a hand to MacKenzie. 

"Thank you, Mac," she said, impulsively giving her boss another hug. "Thank you for everything."

"Maggie . . . "

"Yes."

"Don't go it alone. I'm here. I'll always be here."

 

The depositions went well. Neal didn't say that he wasn't qualified to judge the veracity of the evidence about Genoa. Gary's responses when questioned about Maggie's state of mind were objective but relentlessly positive, and he described the events in Africa with a compassion that made Laurance dislike his client even more than he already did. He felt that this idea that he could break Maggie was going to end as badly as Jerry's attempt to use Kabul against MacKenzie McHale. 

It only took one administration of Rebecca's spiked heel on Don's instep to remind him to stick to short answers and keep his contempt for Jerry Dantana in check. Sloan painted a compelling picture of a group of people subjected to a growing body of seemingly convincing evidence, while trying to resist Jerry Dantana's relentless attempts to persuade them to air the Genoa story. She related Mac's insistence that Jerry play the raw footage of Stomtonovich's interview, and stated categorically that had he not doctored the tape and lied to MacKenzie and everyone else in that meeting, the Genoa story would have died then and there. The only thing that Laurance was able to get was that no one in the second Red Team meeting noticed the discrepancy in the shot clock. 

Maggie got through it, carefully following Rebecca's instructions. Laurance didn't have access to her medical records, and she could truthfully answer that she was not taking any antidepressant medications at the time of the Stomtonovich interview. So they were able to skate over that issue with an objection and instruction not to answer from Rebecca to any questions other than whether her current ability to testify or her ability to be a witness to the General's statements might have been influenced by psychotropic medications. 

Her description of David's sweetness, his terror the night of the raid, and his death in her arms almost brought Laurance to tears. Her insistence that while it was a tragedy that she would never forget, it was something that she would and could live with and from which she had recovered was unshakable. She was also unshakable in her conviction that she knew exactly what she heard and more importantly, what she didn't hear General Stomtonovich say before she was banished from the room on the day she and Jerry went to his home to tape the interview. She testified that she didn't tell anyone that the General had not told her and Dantana that U.S. forces used sarin before The Genoa Report aired because it didn't seem relevant since Jerry had him saying that they had used sarin on raw footage. It was only after the General informed them that he had never said what they aired, and Jerry had tried to defend himself to his colleagues by telling them that she had heard Stomtonovich too that she was compelled to set the record straight. 

Rebecca put her arm around Maggie's shoulders during the cab ride back to AWM, and told her repeatedly that she had done splendidly. The Director of Morale had taken to holding little celebrations for each returning deponent so there was cake and ice cream waiting for Maggie and Rebecca in the conference room. Since she still seemed a little shaken even after the celebration, Mac asked Maggie if she would look after Charlotte while Mac worked out in the gym, figuring correctly that an hour and a half with the baby would help her decompress. 

And then it was Will McAvoy's turn to testify. He and Rebecca worked for days refining the minutiae of his testimony as only a couple of the most brilliant legal minds on the planet could. The night before Will's deposition, Elliott and Don covered for Will and Mac, and Rebecca came to dinner at their apartment. 

Standing in Charlotte's cheery yellow and white room, Rebecca put an arm around Mac's waist. "God, this takes me back. I remember Jack and I working on Sarah's room . . . and on Caroline's . . . But we did Sarah's in yellow." Neither Will or Mac had ever inquired about what had happened to Rebecca's marriage. 

After dinner, Mac retreated to her bedroom to nurse Charlie and allow Rebecca and Will to have "attorney-client" time. They sat in the living room, each with a small cut crystal glass of Ted McHale's vintage Scotch, which they drank for good luck. "So," Rebecca began, "I think that the only thing we haven't nailed down is how you are going to refer to Mac in the depo." They had played with a lot of alternatives, from "my wife" to "Ms. McHale." Will was arguing that he should keep it formal and maybe use her professional name. 

"Okay," Rebecca said, "let's try some test questions and see how it feels." 

The first time Will said the words, "Ms. McHale," his mind went straight to the recollection of her waking him that morning, her hair silky and soft against his naked abdomen, her lips and fingers teasing him into an erection. He finished his answer and drifted away, feeling himself start to swell a little from the memory and wondering now (he'd been too addled by arousal then) if she had awakened from a bad dream and was trying to comfort herself. 

"Where the fuck have you gone?" he heard his lawyer's voice, more amused than disturbed.

"Wha . . . uh? Oh, sorry." He grinning sheepishly. "Thinking about Mac . . . ."

"Well, I see that neither marriage nor parenthood has done anything to put out the flames." She smiled. "Have I told you lately how happy I am for you, Will? You and Mac are going to make it all the way, I think. I can see you at 95 visiting ACN, with Mac by your side, on your arm, steadying you as you walk in the newsroom."

He grinned at her. "I sure hope so. I'm going to work at making that happen." Then for some reason he thought of her comment in Charlie's room, the sadness in it, and found himself asking, "What happened in your marriage? Do your daughters see their father?" Rebecca's eyes widened in surprise. "God, Rebecca," Will exclaimed mortified, and horrified at himself, "you don't have to answer that. That was totally off base. I do apologize."

She laughed. "It's okay. Really. I'm privy to the intimate details of the most traumatic episode in Mac's life, but you don't get to know anything about me?" She paused. "Jack was killed 20 years ago last July 1st."

"And you never remarried?"

Rebecca shrugged. "I had the girls to raise. And, I've had friends, but . . . ." She shrugged again. "You of all people should understand. What happened to you during the three years Mac was away?"

"Well, Mac was still alive. But, yeah . . . If she'd died with William or from the knifing." He shuddered involuntarily. "I'd have never . . . ." He trailed off lost in thought. "Danny told me that when they got her to the hospital, she was in cardiac arrest," Will blurted out. Rebecca reached over and squeezed his hand. 

"Let's not do this the night before your deposition."

"Yeah. So, what shall I call her tomorrow?"

In the end, they decided on "MacKenzie" after Will conceded that he couldn't really keep calling his wife, "Ms. McHale." 

Deposing a fellow lawyer, at least one as skilled and intelligent as Will McAvoy, is never an easy task, and Will was determined that it wouldn't be for Laurance. Will made a point of being friendly when he entered the room. He shook hands with Laurance, who congratulated him, sincerely Will felt, on Charlotte's birth and asked after MacKenzie's health. Jerry glared at his counsel like the asshole he was. Will wasn't sure how he was going to greet Dantana, and decided on a simple "hello" when Jerry made no attempt to extend a hand.

The trickiest part of Will's testimony was how to tell the story of Shep Pressman's falsifying the manifest he gave to Charlie and assuring Will that sarin had been used in the Genoa extraction as revenge for his son's being fired from News Night, which he believed had caused or at least contributed to David's suicide. Will had to protect Pressman's anonymity while not sounding so cryptic that the whole story would lack credibility. Both Will and Rebecca thought that it came off about as well as could be expected. 

When Will and Rebecca got back to the studio, they were surprised to find the conference room decked out in balloons. Since Will's deposition had gone all day, instead of cake and ice cream, dinner, consisting of a number of Will's favorite foods, was waiting for them, along with Lonny, Lee, Charlie, Elliott, Don and most of the rest of the staff. Will was looking around for Mac when he caught Sloan's eye.

"She's in your office trying to nurse Charlotte to sleep before dinner."

"Thanks," he replied and walked off to find and give a thank you kiss to the Associate Director of Morale.


	53. Jerry Dantana Returns

Will McAvoy hung up the phone, leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes. He felt sick . . . sick and terrified. To calm himself, he tried breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth with his lips slightly pursed that way MacKenzie had been taught to do when her breathing became too shallow and rapid. God! And to think that before the call, everything had been going so well. The show had gone off like clockwork. Mac was happy. Charlie, Little Charlie (and Big Charlie, for that matter, Will smiled a little despite his mood), had been easy to deal with all day.

He'd been surprised to hear Nina Howard's voice on the other end of the line. They hadn't spoken since she'd called him to congratulate him on Charlotte's birth, which was now a little over seven weeks ago. He'd thought about calling Nina and asking her not to contact Mac again after he'd learned that Nina had gotten drunk and called while he was on the air, but his wife had anticipated this and told him he'd be sleeping in the guest room until Hell froze over if he even attempted to interject himself into the situation. He hadn't let on that he was aware of that call, but nonetheless, Nina's voice sounded strained.

"Will, how are you? It's Nina."

"Yes, I know. I'm fine. Yourself?"

"Oh, doing okay, I suppose."

What was this? The conversation with Mac redux? But she sounded stone cold sober. He decided to cut directly to the chase. "So, Nina, what can I do for you?"

"I just finished having a drink with Jerry Dantana."

"What! Why? And why are you telling me?" Now suspicion crept into his voice.

"He called me this afternoon and asked me to meet him this evening at Le Bernardin." She chuckled, "I guess he was trying to impress me. The jerk."

"Dantana asked you on a date. Is this any of my business?"

Nina sighed. "He asked me to run the Kabul story, Will. I thought that might interest you," she said slightly acerbically.

Will scrubbed his free hand over his face. "Sorry. Jesus. What did you say?"

"Well, first I said that I needed a second source to confirm Hummel's statement, said that was why I hadn't run the story years ago."

"Nina! What the fuck? You're seriously thinking of running it! You can't! It'll kill Mac . . . . "

"Oh, for Christ's sake, McAvoy! Shut up!" She'd never heard Will panic like this. Never seen him miss the big picture because his emotions were running wild. But then, she thought, she'd never seen anyone threaten MacKenzie. Well, anyone other than him, her, them. "Of course, I'm not thinking of running it. But it wouldn't have been smart to tell him that, now would it?"

"No. No, of course not. Sorry," Will mumbled.

"Jerry told me that he could give me some court papers that include an affidavit from Mac admitting to everything."

"What?! What the fuck!" Will blurted out aggressively like this was still all Nina's fault.

She remained calm, and continued. "I had no idea if such a thing existed or if he was just bluffing, so I told him I'd love to have them, and he agreed. I'm supposed to see him . . . Christ, have dinner with him . . . tomorrow night . . . to get them." 

Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, Will had the feeling that he should be thanking Nina, that Mac would be thanking Nina, instead of treating her like the enemy. But she brought out emotions that made him want to push her away, emotions that he didn't need Habib to tell him were directly connected to the self-contempt he felt for using her to hurt MacKenzie. He fought their control over him and softened his voice.

"They exist," Will confirmed. "They were filed under seal pursuant to a stipulated protective order, which means that the minute he gives them to you, he will be in violation of a federal court order and can be held in contempt. ACN's counsel submitted them to the judge sitting on his case before he ruled on her objection to Dantana's lawyer's interrogating Mac on the subject of Wi . . . of losing the baby in Kabul."

"Jesus," Nina breathed softly, and then said in her reporter's voice, "Let me guess, you won?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Jerry was going on and on about some injustice that had been done to him, some fraud that you and Mac had perpetrated on the judicial system, Lady Justice herself, God, apple pie and the American Way."

"Jerry's always the victim," Will sighed. "He played the victim card all through the Genoa investigation . . . ." Will stopped abruptly, catching himself before saying the rest of what he was thinking, which was that every time Mac questioned Jerry's assertion that sarin had been employed in the extraction, he made her discount her suspicion as distrust based purely on the fact that he wasn't Jim. When Jim raised objections, Jerry insinuated that they were unfairly aimed at him because Jim was jealous that he was working closely with Mac. He kept everyone a little off balance, kept them from seeing their distrust for what it was, recognition that Jerry Dantana wasn't trustworthy. 

"Will," Nina said into the silence. "This isn't the old Jerry. He was just a run of the mill paranoid narcissist with a dash of Asperger's." Will snorted a laugh in spite of himself, and felt Nina relax a little. "This Jerry is frightening. He's unstable. I mean really unstable, not tethered to reality. He still insists that the MARSOC unit used sarin and Stomtonovich said so. I couldn't get him to calm down until I agreed with him, told him I believed him. I'm thinking of asking a friend to have dinner at Cafe Carlyle tomorrow night so I won't have to be completely alone with him." There was real fear in Nina's voice.

"What time is your date?"

"Meeting."

Will snorted again. "Meeting."

"7:15."

"I'll do you one better than the friend, unless, of course, your friend is a security professional. I'll treat the Assistant VP of Security here, who's my former bodyguard, Lonny Church, and his girlfriend to dinner at Cafe Carlyle at 7:15 tomorrow evening. If he can't make it, he'll send someone equally good."

"Thanks, Will," she sounded sincerely relieved. 

"Nina," Will forced himself to confront his fear. "Do you think he's shopping this to anyone else?"

"I don't. Not yet. I told him that if he wanted it in TMI, then he needed to give me an exclusive, and that if I got even a whiff that he's going around to other journalists, all bets were off. I even, God help me, dangled the possibility that if this story turned out to be big enough, there might be a job in it for him at TMI. That was the best I could do in the moment. But I think it's enough. I think he's contained for now."

Now, Will McAvoy did thank Nina Howard. He thanked her profusely and from the bottom of his heart. When he was done, he said, "Oh, and Nina, don't say anything about this to Mac."

"Really, Will? You mean this wasn't her phone I dialed?"

"Okay. Okay, I deserved that. Thanks again. I sincerely do appreciate what you're doing for MacKenzie. If there's anything I can do for you . . . ."

"Yeah. You can start," she interrupted, "by figuring out, now that I'm twirling the tiger above my head, how the fuck I'm supposed to put him down. Bye. I'll call you after . . . Or better yet, you call me. You know when Mac's occupied."

Will called Lonny and cleared his and Loraine's availability for the following evening. Will told Lonny a white lie, saying that Dantana had called and asked Nina to meet him, that he didn't say why, and Will would just like to have eyes and ears in the room. Then he called Lee to ask her to pull strings to get a table for two at Cafe Carlyle for 7:15 the following evening. The conversation was made a bit difficult by the fact that the first thing she said upon hearing his voice was, "Hey, Will. Come on up. Your family's here, McMac and both Charlies."

"Sure, in a minute," he replied. "But first I need you to pretend that I'm telling you that I want to do something nice for Lonny and Loraine's been nagging him to take her to Cafe Carlyle. I need a table for two tomorrow at 7:15. 7:00 would be okay, and probably 7:30 would do too." Without missing a beat, Leona started playing along, telling him that she'd be happy to help him surprise his friend, but that she was sure that Will McAvoy had enough clout all on his own to pull it off without her. 

While she spoke, paused, laughed, and spoke again, he said, "Nina Howard's been approached by Dantana to run the Kabul story. She told him she needs a confirming source and he offered to give her Mac's affidavit from the in camera hearing." This was the only point at which Lee Lansing missed a beat in her otherwise flawless performance, as she gasped audibly. Enough legalese had rubbed off hanging with Rebecca for her to know that Dantana was about to commit a major transgression. "Nina's meeting him for dinner tomorrow night to pick it up, but she's scared of him, Lee. She says he's not stable, that his hold on reality is slipping. I'll tell you more later."

"Okay, Will," Lee said brightly, "so you're on your way up. Grand. I'll get started on the reservation," she offered smoothly, even as a cold fist constricted her throat.

 

All the next day, Will was preoccupied, obsessed with thinking about what Dantana might do, and with hiding his concern from his wife. While Mac and Charlie napped after lunch, he met with Lee and Rebecca. Rebecca's pleasure in the way that the AWM and ACN employees' depositions had been going evaporated when Will told her about Nina's call. Defeating Dantana's legal claims now looked to them both like the preverbal double edged sword. Again and again, he considered ways of bringing up with MacKenzie the concept of a structured pay-out settlement ("that's a lovely term for hush money," Leona had observed dryly), but rejected each as leading to the same dead end as their last go round about it unless he disclosed to her that Dantana seemed to be moving toward detonating the nuclear bomb. 

That night, Will flubbed a simple sentence about the fixes being considered for the problems with the Affordable Care Act registration website, and missed a cue from Mac to introduce a video in a report about Edward Snowdon's disclosures of U.S. government hacking the cell phones of foreign leaders. 

"What the fuck's the matter with you, Billy?" he heard Mac ask in his ear after the second gaffe. Mercifully since he was still at the news desk, he was spared the task of trying to construct an answer.

While he was wrapping up (at least he didn't thank the audience for "washing" them), a text came in from Lonny that Nina and Dantana had finished their meal and appeared to have gone their separate ways. Will waited until Leona had come in and taken Mac away to get the baby before calling Nina. 

"I've got it," Nina said before even saying, hello. 

"Okay," Will replied. "I want to bring in Rebecca Halliday, she's AWM's principle . . . . "

"I know who she is," Nina interrupted. "She called me this afternoon." 

"She'll be a good person to help figure out how to keep the tiger from eating you, eating us all, when you put him down. How did you leave things with Jerry?"

"That I would read the documents and call him tomorrow afternoon. I said that I had a headache and was too tired to read them tonight. I think if he had his way, he sit beside me and turn the pages while I read. God! He's antsy! It exhausting just being in the same room with him."

"Will you meet with Rebecca tomorrow morning? And bring the documents?" When she agreed, he gave Nina the address and phone number of the law firm. He thanked her again for her help, and it was only after he hung up that Will realized that he hadn't asked why Rebecca had called Nina that afternoon. So he called Rebecca.

"I got served with a revised witness list yesterday and she was on it. I wanted to check out for myself what's going on. She said she has no idea why he listed her, that she has no information about the investigation into Genoa. She also said that if he thinks she's going to talk about Mac losing the baby or anything about her relationship with you, he has another thing coming. She sounded like she was being straight about it. Said she respects Mac and has no interest in the 'bitter woman scorned role.' Her words, not mine."

"I just spoke to her and she's going to be at your office tomorrow at 10:30. She has a copy of Mac's affidavit . . . ."

"No shit?" Rebecca interrupted. She actually sounded happy, the way lawyers do when the other side commits a huge blunder. Will could understand it, even if his own fears prevented him from experiencing the emotion. "Really? He really did it! That little fucker. A sealed document. Is he out of his mind?"

"Well, that's the question, the worry, isn't it?" It was like he had thrown a bucket of cold water on her. He heard her sharp intake of breath. Then nothing. "Rebecca? Rebecca? Are you okay?"

"No." Her voice sounded small and young. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Fine." 

 

As Will and Mac climbed into bed that night, she seemed subdued and he apologized one more time to his EP for his on air flubs.

"It's okay. It's just so totally unlike you." Now she sounded more worried than angry. "What's wrong, Billy?"

God! It was almost impossible to lie to her. And he needed to start somewhere. So he told her that he'd spoken to Rebecca and that Nina's name had been added to Dantana's witness list. 

"That doesn't necessarily mean that she's agreed to cooperate with him does it?" Mac asked tentatively, a note of fear and betrayal in her voice.

"No! No, not at all," he assured her. "In fact, Rebecca said that she called Nina after she got the revised witness list from Laurance, and Nina wants nothing to do with Jerry Dantana." 

That seemed to reassure his wife, who wrapped herself around him. "Don't worry so much, Billy. Rebecca told me a couple of days ago that the depositions are going so well she's afraid to say it out loud for fear of jinxing things. The audience could care less about Genoa. God, I never thought I'd say this, but look at your numbers." She gave him that smile he adored. "We're going to beat Jerry Dantana." Mac kissed his ear and throat. "I know we are." She moved her hand in lazy circles on his chest. "But first, we're going to forget about him."

 

If only that had been true. If only they could. But they forgot about Jerry that night, and somewhat, or at least Mac seemed to, for the next few days. Will continued to monitor Nina's contacts with Dantana. He was pressuring her mercilessly to at least prepare the copy so that she could run the Kabul story on short notice. At Rebecca's suggestion, Nina had started drafting something so that she could demonstrate her good faith, while also suggesting to Jerry that Will might pay quite a lot to keep this quiet, even telling him that she'd once just hinted to Will that she had something on Mac and he'd pulled out his checkbook. 

Will, Nina and Rebecca thought that they were keeping Dantana in check. But then, a week later, he burst into their lives with a vengeance. 

It was October 28th, and Halloween decorations started going up in the bull pen. Sloan bought a costume for Charlotte that made her face look like one of four tiny peas in a pod. While Will and Mac both had some reservations about dressing up their infant daughter for Halloween, they and everyone else had to agree that she was completely adorable in the little costume. Sloan told Will that it was an impulse buy. She'd just seen it on the internet and thought of how he'd practically bought out the maternity wear company, A Pea in the Pod, during Mac's pregnancy. "We're saving them all for you, sis," he joked back. Sloan just rolled her eyes.

At 6:15, Will kissed his daughter's forehead, and Mac walked out to take her down to the 15th floor child care center. When Mac returned, they got down to work setting the final, final rundown, making sure that the videos for the broadcast were queued properly. Will was in his office, reviewing his copy, doing some last minute edits, and just about to change into his suit for the broadcast, when he heard unfamiliar voices in the bull pen. He went out just in time to hear Lonny Church begin to speak.

"Listen up, people. Approximately five minutes ago, Security spotted Jerry Dantana in the building." Lonny waited patiently for about 10 seconds for the side chatter to run its course, and then whistled. "He was approached and questioned about where he was going. His answers were evasive and when pressed, he bolted into a stairwell, and we lost him. We are doing a search of the entire building, but we believe that he may well have fled the premises already. Stephen on the front desk saw someone run across the lobby at about the right time, but he can't identify the person definitively as Dantana, so we'll keep looking until we are sure that the premises are secure."

"He tried to get in here?" Mac asked. "Really, anyone who can get past the security desk and into an elevator can get in here . . . " She drifted off, as if contemplating the import of her statement for the first time. Lonny's face bore an expression that said it wouldn't be true much longer.

"We don't think he came here. We think he ran out of the building, but we can't be sure until the canvass is completed." 

"Well, if he wasn't confronted here, where was he? On 44?" Will was just formulating the same question when he heard Mac ask.

Then he saw it. The answer in Lonny's eyes, his frozen features, the slight hunch of his posture toward MacKenzie that revealed the pain he was in.

Will heard his wife breathe in. The constriction was already obvious from the sound. "Fifteen . . ." she said. "He was on fifteen . . . ." It was said in a breathless whisper that somehow sounded like a scream in Will's ears. 

Will stared straight ahead, straight at Lonny, who just nodded in response to Mac's deduction. The thought that Dantana was on the fifteenth floor rotated endlessly in his mind. There was nothing, nothing, nothing on the fifteenth floor that could make this an honest mistake. Jerry Dantana had been there because Charlotte McAvoy was there. It was that simple. Will had never felt the desire to do violence, the desire to do physical damage, the desire to kill like this before. Charlotte had been threatened. It suffused his body with an energy that tightened his muscles and sharpened his senses. In his entire life, he had only experienced one other thing, sexual arousal with MacKenzie, that was this all-consuming of his body, mind and soul. He would neutralize this threat to his child.

"Will. Will. Bro!" It was Sloan's voice that broke through. He made eye contact with Sloan who pointedly looked past and slightly behind him. He turned to where Mac had lowered herself into Tess's desk chair. She was trembling violently, wheezing and breathing too fast and too shallowly, her diaphragm muscles working much too hard getting air into and out of her lungs. Jim was beside her, hunkered down, his hand on her shoulder, telling her that she needed to slow her breathing, that Charlie was fine. Dantana had been stopped before he got to the child care center. The system had worked. He looked up helplessly at Will. This was as bad a panic attack as he'd seen, and that was before the shooting, before hyperventilating also brought on bronchospasm. 

Will raised Mac to her feet, taking most of her weight. He thought about scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to his office, but he thought that if he did, within the hour both his wife and his knee would be complaining vociferously. "Let me take care of her, be alone with her?" He said it like it was a question, as if one of the people in the bull pen had the power to deny the request, and froze momentarily, seemingly awaiting permission.

Finally, Lonny spoke, "Ok. Do you need anything?"

"Got it all," Will replied, turning and mostly carrying Mac to his office. No longer needed, Lonny and his assistant ran out to oversee the building search. 

Within seconds of the door closing on Will's office, Charlie Skinner and Reese Lansing appeared in the newsroom from opposite directions. A moment later, Leona arrived. "Where's Mac and Will?" she asked, and was told the same thing that the others had been told. The news had provoked a panic attack, and Will was giving Mac a breathing treatment. Sloan assured Leona that Lonny had done nothing to bring it on. "It's her kid, for fuck's sake, and Dantana scares the shit out of me! Wait til you sit across a table from him for a few hours, you'll see." 

As Sloan spoke, it occurred to Maggie that no one was doing what Mac really needed, and darted from the bull pen. When she pulled up at the elevator bank, Jim came sliding over beside her. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, deep lines of concern furrowing his brow.

"Yes. No. Well . . . Jesus! Are you?"

"No . . . No, of course not. But I'm not okay 'cause Mac's not okay."

"And I'm going to do something about that," Maggie said as the door opened and she jumped into the cab. 

Jim followed a second later, and then said, "oh . . . " when he saw that she had pressed the button marked "15." 

The fifteenth floor was an armed camp. Even with their ACN creds, Maggie and Jim were held up from entering the Day Care Center. They were just talking the guard into clearing them if the nanny ID'd them when Lonny arrived and said they could get Charlotte. He then personally escorted the three of them back to the newsroom. 

People were just standing around the bull pen trying not to talk about what kind of threat Dantana was to the baby, and unable to think of anything else. What the fuck had Jerry Dantana been thinking . . . or oh, God, planning . . . when he went to the fifteenth floor? Like Will, no one could think up an innocent explanation. Leona, Charlie and Reese had gone to Charlie's office to call Rebecca and consider their legal options. Sloan looked up and rushed over to Maggie, Jim and Little Charlie when they entered. She moved to take the baby from Maggie, and then caught herself. Sloan believed that having witnessed Charlotte's birth gave them a special connection, and it sometimes came out in her exercising a superior right of access over the other staff. It was true, Don told her, she was Charlie's aunt in a way no one else was. Mac and Will had invited her into to their lives to an unprecedented degree. Everybody knew it. But seeing it was a different thing for some . . . . After that, Sloan had been trying, with Don's coaching, to curb whenever possible, the impulse to be proprietary with the baby at the studio. 

Maggie walked to Will's office door and knocked. "Will, it's Maggie. I've got Charlie. May I come in?"

Will, who was holding Mac against him trying to get her to breathe in tandem with his slower inhalations, was expecting Charlie Skinner. Instead, at his agreement, Maggie walked in carrying Little Charlie, who was sitting up against Maggie's body, facing out. Will and Mac were seated on the sofa. Mac had her feet up and was leaning against him, while breathing from a large plastic tube with a face mask on one end and a little red inhaler attached to the other end of it. Mac's breathing was slower and deeper than it had been in the bull pen, but Maggie wouldn't yet call it normal. Mac's eyes were closed, and Maggie wasn't sure that Mac was even aware that she'd entered the room.

Tears sprang into Will's eyes as he looked at his rosy cheeked daughter trying to insert a slippery fist into her mouth. Maggie brought her closer, and when she got to be about two feet from her father, Will saw Charlotte blink rapidly and look slightly startled as his face undoubtedly swam into focus. She'd been reacting for a few weeks now to the difference between things being in focus, which for her still meant up very close, and being in the blur that is most of the known universe to a newborn. But this time, she did something that she had never done before. She crinkled up her eyes, which turned them into deep dark pools of shiny liquid, and gave Will a big toothless grin of recognition. 

"Oh, my God! Will!" Maggie exclaimed. "Look at her. She's never done that before has she? She looks just like Mac. Mac looks at you like that all the time! With exactly that look in her eyes!"

At that, Mac's eyes opened. Like Sloan, she made an automatic move toward her baby, but also stopped, staring at her laughing child. Each time Will said "good evening, Miss McAvoy," and "yes, there's my girl" in his "daddy voice," he was rewarded with something between a peal of laughter and a giggle, and Maggie was kicked and pummeled by tiny waving fists. It was the elusive "social laugh," that Mac had read about, that all parents wait for, the communication of humor given and humor taken, the birth of that most quintessential human trait, the ability to leave ourselves behind for the moment and laugh. 

Mac took the spacer mask away from her face, and watched her daughter and husband. It was tragic in a way. She smiled at the thought. Will McAvoy had once been so strong and gruff, a real man's man, solitary and without entanglements. And now, he was a child's plaything. Charlie had inherited "the eyes." Will McAvoy was a goner.


	54. Protection

Reese, Charlie and Leona were in Charlie Skinner's office. So far, Security's search of the building had turned up nothing. No sign of Jerry Dantana and no clues as to what he had been doing outside of the Child Care Center on the fifteenth floor. Leona was adamant about getting a restraining order that would keep Dantana away from the AWM building. Far away, she hoped.

"All I'm saying, Lee . . . " Rebecca's disembodied voice came out of the telephone speaker. ". . . is that we need to fold Will in before we make a final decision on anything."

"It's my company, Becca." Leona paced in agitation. "It's my god damned building he came into . . . . "

"And it's Will's wife and daughter, Mother," Reese put in, giving Charlie a "do something" look.

"I'm not talking about anything that would tip Dantana off that we know he's violated the court order." Leona plowed on. "Or giving up that Nina Howard's been in touch with Will. We'll let that one play out. But I want to take that little runt into court and let the judge know that he was sneaking around in my building, and on a floor where there was nothing that could possibly be any of his fucking business." Suddenly fear and trembling replaced the anger in Lee Lansing's voice. "He got so close. So close to the baby. God!" She paused and brought both hands up, clasp them and lowered her pursed lips onto to her joined fists in a signature gesture that to Charlie and Reese signified that she was barely holding it together. "Did you know," she turned to Charlie, "that Lonny had a guard posted on fifteen?"

"No. Frankly, it never occurred to me that we'd need one," Skinner replied.

"Me either, and I liked it that way. Fucking Jerry Dantana!"

"Do you think," Reese began, "that he really would have harmed Little Charlie? Do you think he came here to hurt her?"

"That's the $64,000 Question isn't it?" Leona replied.

"No," Rebecca's sober voice filled the room. "That's the question we can't allow to be answered."

 

The following day, they brought in both Will and MacKenzie to consult on the final decision. "What's the downside of asking for the restraining order?" Mac inquired when first informed that moving for one was on the table. When no one ventured a response, she answered her own question, "that we'll piss Jerry Dantana off, I suppose, and he'll do what? . . . try something violent? But Lonny's already got us living under armed guard." Will's crowd walks, which had been resumed a few months after the shooting in a slightly more secure form, had once again been curtailed and the McAvoy's were coming and going through the underground garage. "Jerry couldn't get within ten feet of Charlotte," Mac continued, smiling at Lonny who was sitting at Leona's office conference table. "I thought Bobby was going to make me show ID this morning before he'd allow me to leave the apartment with her." Lonny smiled back and raised two fingers to his brow in salute. 

The person at the center of this discussion was at that moment reclining placidly on Grandma Lee's lap, wearing one of the two newest additions to the ACN line of logo wear. It was a footsie with a tiny ACN logo on the front and the words, "I'm waiting for News Night with Charlotte McAvoy," on the back. The brainchild of "Uncle Reese," it and the tiny t-shirt version were out of stock within days at both the ACN store in the lobby and online, as were all of the small sizes of a new sweatshirt with "Future Greater Fool" on the front and the ACN logo on the back. Will had thought they both were pretty funny, but Mac had predictably balked at "exploiting" her child until Reese had threatened to invoke the promotion cooperation clause in her contract. 

"I vote with Leona," Mac concluded. "I want to do something. I want to show Dantana that he can't just come in here anytime he likes and terrorize us."

 

As she sat at her desk drinking a morning cup of coffee and reading through papers, it occurred to Rebecca that maybe she should give Mike Laurance a heads up about the motion, but then she decided that screw it, she'd just serve the papers and let Jerry take the full brunt of his lawyer's displeasure. She was pretty sure that Laurance was in the dark about Jerry's little stunt at ACN, and certain that he wouldn't be (or, if by some chance he knew, wasn't) happy about it. Thanks to her army of associates, within twenty-four hours of the conference in Leona's office, Rebecca was editing drafts of a motion for a permanent restraining order and a companion motion for an emergency temporary restraining order that would keep Jerry away from ACN and Charlotte McAvoy until the motion could be decided. She had a separate motion to expedite the briefing and hearing on the long-term order, and supporting affidavits drafted for Ben Singulary, the guard who had confronted Dantana on the fifteenth floor, Lonny Church, and Mac and Will, as Charlie's parents. 

Although she thought she had played it cool in the meeting with Mac and Will, the truth was that Jerry Dantana terrified Rebecca. Unlike the ACN staffers, who only experienced him for the duration of their individual depositions, Rebecca had been watching him disintegrate day after day, week after week, as discovery of the ACN defense to his claims continued. She also was privy to Nina's descriptions of her interactions with Dantana and she agreed whole-heartedly with Nina's assessment that he was becoming more paranoid, more narcissistic and more out-of-touch with reality with each passing day. Rebecca wondered how Laurance was handling his client. Was he agreeing with him, as Nina was, that the Genoa retraction had been something that MacKenzie had needlessly insisted on to keep him from winning a well-deserved Peabody? God, just the thought of Dantana out there walking the streets made Rebecca's blood run cold. 

Instead of Laurance, Rebecca called Will. "Hey, there," she said as he came on the line. "How are you doing? I've got the papers drafted, if you'd like to take a look at them."

"Yes, of course, I'll look at them. Email me copies. I've got some time this morning. As for your first question, honestly, I haven't the least fucking idea how to answer that one."

"Wow. That well, uh?"

"I don't know, Rebecca, I feel like I'm sitting on a ticking time bomb, two ticking time bombs. What are the odds that Jerry gives up on Nina and TMI and takes the Kabul story to someone who'll publish it? The Star or the Sun in the UK? They have no scruples. Or one of those supermarket rags over here? Holding him in contempt of court will be a pretty tame punishment after Mac has to deal with her parents and brothers finding out about the baby that way.

"She still hasn't told them?"

"No, won't budge on the subject. Well, to be honest, I've not brought it up in a while. Maybe it's time for me to put on my Don Quixote helmet and have another go at that particular windmill. She's so resistant to it. I have no idea why. They are the most forgiving people. Well, Margaret is anyway. Jesus." Will sighed deeply. "But lately, I've been thinking that it's naïve to think that Jerry would be content taking his revenge that way . . . . "

Will heard Rebecca sigh as well.

"You've seen him more than anyone. What do you think?"

"I agree with Nina," the lawyer replied after a long pause. "I've not been privy to any conversations where he insists that the Genoa MARSOC unit used sarin, but . . . well . . . he's getting more agitated with each deposition. He can't seem to concentrate and can barely sit still. Laurance has to caution him not to disrupt the testimony. He's aware, I think, that his case isn't going well . . . " she drifted off into another sigh. "Frankly, Will, he scares the shit out of me. I've even dreamt about him a couple of times." She seemed to shudder.

"Not sex dreams, I take it." 

She laughed and relaxed a little, as he'd hoped she would. "No, I reserve those for Charlie Skinner."

"Seriously, Charlie?" he asked, laughing.

She laughed again. "Why not? He's a very sexy guy."

Suddenly, the levity drained out of both of them. Will spoke first. "I keep thinking about all those workplace shootings, and courthouse shootings. God! I was still a prosecutor when the one in that law firm on the West Coast happened. That was a client, if I remember it right . . . . "

"Gian Luigi Ferri," Rebecca supplied somberly.

"God, Rebecca! You're amazing sometimes. You have some of the most obscure facts on the tip of your tongue!" There followed a silence so long that Will thought for a second that the connection had failed.

"Thanks," Rebecca replied evenly, "you're pretty amazing yourself sometimes. I was living in San Francisco at the time. Caroline was a baby. I was between jobs, but still part of the legal community when . . . it happened." She drifted for a moment and then breathed in and seemed to refocus. "Oh, wow. I've got a conference I'm going to be late for. I'll send you the papers. Just redline them and send them back. We can talk later today."

"Okay, no problem."

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

"As your blue blooded in-laws would say, 'keep calm and carry on.' We're all going to get through this."

He got the motion drafts within the hour and started to work on them. About a half hour later, Mac came in to nurse Charlie, and so he started reading them aloud to her. Although they'd done lots of copy together in their day, this was the first time Mac had participated in editing Rebecca's legal filings. Once again, Will was blown away by the brilliance of the mind possessed by the woman he'd married. She understood without having been told that the purpose of the filings was to inflame the passion of the court while appearing to be completely dispassionate and factual. This required the careful crafting of the words used to tell what was essentially a simple story of a man being in a place where there was no reason for him to have been, and one very near to an extremely vulnerable person. They also needed to convey that this act, coupled with the obvious adversarial nature of the relationship between Dantana and Charlotte's parents, creates a situation in which they have a reasonable and rational fear that he represents a threat to their child. 

When they were done, Will emailed the edited drafts back to Rebecca. About an hour later, he got a reply telling him that it was some of his best work. He emailed back that the credit should go to Charlie's mother. The motion was filed that afternoon, with a hearing on the temporary restraining order scheduled for 10:00 AM the following morning. Rebecca suggested that one or preferably both of Charlotte's parents be there.

Within an hour of the filing of the motions for the restraining orders and their service on Dantana's counsel by email, Rebecca's phone rang. Her assistant informed her that Mr. Laurance was holding for her. 

"Mike, you've read our papers, I take it," she said by way of greeting.

"Rebecca," he responded, his voice strained, "will you agree to seal these motions?" He sounded frightened. 

"I'll need to consult with my clients and give them a reason why we should."

"Yes, of course." He paused as though he hadn't anticipated having to give an explanation. Rebecca gave in to the impulse to help him out. 

"I am not adverse to the idea, Mike," she said, "but I need something to give to Leona Lansing besides Mike asked me and he's an okay dude." 

Laurance laughed in a pained sort of way. "Mr. Dantana is very distressed by the accusation that he poses a danger to the McAvoy baby. He claims that he was on his way to visit a friend, forgot the floor he was going to, and simply got off of the elevator on the fifteenth floor to stop and think about where he was going. He was . . . " Laurance paused as if searching for the right word. ". . . distraught at the idea that these unfounded allegations will be made a matter of public record . . . . "

Rebecca felt her blood pressure rise. "It's perfectly fine with Mr. Dantana for the deepest agony of MacKenzie McHale's life to be a matter of public record, or for unfounded allegations about her mental and emotional stability to be a matter of public record, but he doesn't want anyone to know that when he was asked by a security guard where he was going in the AWM building, he bolted into a stairway and couldn't seem to remember that he was visiting a friend . . . Who is this friend, anyway?" Rebecca asked skeptically.

"The guy on the morning show," Laurance replied. "I can't seem to remember his name."

"Really? Give me a break," Rebecca muttered.

"Rebecca . . . ". Laurance's voice was pitched as reasonable and reassuring, but the undercurrent of fear was still evident. 

"I'll tell you what," Rebecca countered, " if your client will stipulate to the restraining order, we will withdraw the motions and request the court to seal the documents that we filed today. 

Laurance hung up clearly disappointed. Rebecca called Leona and Will in that order and told them about the call. As she was hanging up from Will, her other line rang. It was Laurance offering to stipulate to the temporary restraining order and to attempt to negotiate the terms of a more permanent restraining order that his client could agree to. "Rebecca, please," he implored, "this is the best that I could do." Then he paused again. "I really need this," he whispered, and so do your clients . . . ." He took a deep breath, and then said more loudly, "Call me with your decision," and abruptly hung up.

Leona had already given Rebecca authority to handle this matter as she saw fit, but nonetheless, just for form's sake she waited a half an hour before calling Laurance back and telling him that her client would agree to request the court to seal the motions and hold the hearing on the restraining order in chambers if they could not reach agreement on a permanent order. In return, Dantana would stipulate to be bound by the terms of the temporary restraining order, until such time as it was replaced by a permanent order or AWM's motion for one was denied. He agreed instantly. Rebecca hung up the phone feeling like things were unravelling quickly and she had no idea where it all was headed. All she knew was that she didn't like it. Not one little bit.

 

After the final rundown meeting, Mac dropped Charlie off at day care on fifteen and dashed out for a brief appointment with Denise Barrington. Will had offered to come along but she'd urged him to stay at ACN in case Charlie got fussy and needed the presence of a parent, saying that it was just a quick check-up at which she wanted to discuss birth control options that involved something that provided a little more protection than "our current method of keeping our fingers crossed that a nursing woman can't get pregnant."

So, when Will found that he had a little time to kill, he tagged Lonny and invited him to meet for a cup of coffee in the Executive Dinning Room. They talked about the security upgrades for the fifteenth floor and the News Night studio that Lonny had recommended and Leona had approved. Then they started chatting about personal things, playing college sports, Lonny's relationship with Loraine, Will's bogus anniversary celebration the previous December, and their first days together when Lonny began guarding Will. When Will said something about Lonny's having been rotated off his detail by the security agency the year or so before, the large black man just rolled his eyes Heavenward. 

"You still believe that rotation shit?" Lonny laughed. "Man, I ditched you, McAvoy." Will's expression was genuine surprise, so Lonny continued. "When you took up with Ms. Howard, I just couldn't watch . . . " Then, Lonny voice became lower and more sober, " . . . knowing what it was . . . you were . . . doing to Mac." Now, Will could see it. Of course! The change in Lonny's demeanor just before he was "rotated" away. No more jokes. No more smiles. Just business. He returned to the present and caught up with his friend, who had built up quite a head of steam. ". . . were you doing? Christ, McAvoy! Didn't you see the woman who was at the hospital with you everyday? Didn't you notice her losing ten pounds in that week. Man, I did everything to get that girl to eat, but she just couldn't . . . The most she'd do was take a few bites and she could barely swallow them."

No. Will thought, he hadn't. He hadn't seen her at all. He'd been too self-absorbed, caught up in his own self pity over the New York Magazine article, and more, over the fact that MacKenzie had heard him say he still loved her and had not cared enough to respond. Once again, he had let his inner monologue blind him to what had been going on, to the reality that was right before his eyes. But that didn't explain Nina. He went to Nina after he'd learned that Mac's phone had been hacked. While she was begging him to tell her what the voice message said. What the fuck had he been doing? 

Lonny was still talking. " . . . couldn't watch you giving Mac shit and being the lovey-dovey perfect boyfriend with Nina Howard without either developing a bleeding ulcer or putting a bullet in your head myself. Neither seemed like a good career move."

The lovey-dovey perfect boyfriend. Was that it? The allure was getting to play the part, like an actor in a romantic comedy, all fluff and no substance, because without the substance there could be no possibility of being hurt. Something to talk to Dr. Habib about . . . maybe some way to solve the puzzle of why he hurt MacKenzie the way he did. He could still hear the flatness in Margaret's voice asking him who Nina Howard was and the pain of his mother-in-law's agreement he'd been spectacularly successful using Nina to hurt Mac. Lonny's voice once again cut through the haze of Will's thoughts.

. . . when she found you. And then, the first night in the car in the parking lot . . . "

"What parking lot?"

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

"I'm sorry. What parking lot?"

"The hospital parking lot. Mac and I spent the night there. She wouldn't leave you and I couldn't take her back inside." When Will just looked quizzically at him, Lonny stared back. "When Charlie left the hospital the night, morning, after we brought you in, Mac had a . . . Jesus! Man! How do you think she reacted to seeing you like that . . . to the idea you might die? She was fucking terrified . . . out of her head with worry. She was having panic attacks . . . multiple ones . . . heart racing, vomiting, couldn't get her breath. Finally, she fell into an exhausted sleep and then the fun really started." He glared menacingly at Will.

Will closed his eyes, and spoke. "She had nightmares . . . ."

"I'll say," Lonny breathed.

"She screamed as if she were in physical pain. She asked me to forgive her and to listen to her. I'm sure she said she was sorry about Brian . . . ."

"Did Brian die?" Lonny asked quietly. "When she was really out of her head, she seemed to be blaming herself for someone's dying. She kept asking you to forgive her for not keeping him alive."

"No, Brian didn't die. In fact, you met him. Brenner." Will rubbed his hands over his face. 

"Oh, the writer. That asshole who wouldn't get the message and leave Mac alone and did the hatchet job on you?"

"Yeah." Will looked into Lonny's kind eyes. "Thank you, Lonny. Back at the hospital . . . thank you for staying with her, and comforting her." Lonny shrugged it off. "No, seriously, you took a huge chance, even in this day and age, spending the night in that car with her. What if she'd been a whack-job and screamed rape? Just your word against hers . . . . "

"And no physical evidence, and New York in 2011 wasn't exactly Mississippi in 1954, but I get your drift." Lonny stopped as if to consider. "Then, I'd have been a dead man . . . or spent the rest of my sorry life wearing an orange jumpsuit instead of these seriously fine threads." He fingered the labels of his impeccably hand-tailored grey herringbone Savile Row suit, a welcome to AWM gift from MacKenzie. Then, he shrugged again. "But it was Mac. I trusted her."

And she trusts you, Will thought. He took a deep breath and said, "the person who died was named William." Shock mixed with something akin to confirmation made Lonny's eyes go wide. "William Duncan . . . " Now, it was Lonny's turn to close his eyes. Will thought he heard him say, "oh, shit," but couldn't be sure. " . . . McAvoy . . . Junior. Charlotte's brother."

"When?" Lonny asked, reverentially. 

"The day he was born, June 8th, 2007. He came really early. Much, much too early. He only lived for . . . well, no one exactly knows for sure . . . minutes . . . certainly less than an hour."

"Don't doctors or nurses time that stuff? I mean, don't they record the exact time someone is born and dies?"

"If they're there. But they weren't. It was Afghanistan. She was in a hotel room . . . in the morning. No one . . . ." Will's voice broke. "There's more . . . I'll tell you . . . but not now. I need to tell Mac I'm doing it first and I need to be able to do the show, go to Hair and Make-up in a little while, without puffy eyes. Okay?" When Lonny nodded and reached across the table to squeeze his shoulder, Will cleared his throat, took a sip of his coffee and changed the subject. 

"So, if you ditched me because of Nina, why did you come back when you did? Nina was still around, if I recall correctly."

"Yeah, Nina was, for a little while, at least." Lonny paused, as if what he was going to say, or maybe what he was thinking, made him wistful. "She didn't like the new guy . . . didn't trust him to keep you safe. Shortly after she found out about Nina, and how long it had been going on," Lonny continued, unable to control himself from giving Will a dirty look, "she put two and two together and asked me if I'd left you because of that. Then, she asked me to put it aside and go back to protecting you. As a favor to her."

There was no doubt who "she" was. She was the woman who would think about his safety while he was ripping her insides to shreds. She was the one who would always protect him . . . protect Charlotte and protect him . . . put herself between them and anyone or anything that threatened to hurt either of them. As he finished the thought, Will was swamped by an unexpected wave of emotion whose origins he couldn't identify, sorrow, like a sudden sharp pain, sliced through his gut and caught his breath.


	55. Doctor's Visit

"MacKenzie, what do you take me for? Do you think that I didn't . . . don't . . . know what has to happen for a 22 or 23 week old fetus to emerge from the human body?" Dr. Barrington asked.

God! How had the conversation gotten on this subject, Mac asked herself. The exam had concluded and she was dressed and sitting in one of the doctor's desk chairs. They had been starting to talk about birth control and now, suddenly this?

"You said that you had a miscarriage," the doctor continued. "That didn't make me think that your experience had been the equivalent of a woman going through a miscarriage at 5 or 6 weeks. I thought that it was your way of saying that the fetus had been non-viable." Denise Barrington looked at Mac's face and downcast eyes. Still hard, she thought. "Now, as I said, I have copies of your medical records from Afghanistan . . . ."

Mac had been shocked to hear that Dan Shivitz had given Denise copies of the records from her admission to the military hospital in Kabul. She remembered full well signing a waiver to her confidentiality protections allowing them to share any and all information pertinent to her medical condition when it was decided that they would both participate in her prenatal care, so it wasn't the sharing of information that surprised her. That's what it had been, Denise assured her. She'd needed to fill in the gap from when Mac left her care in May 2007 to when she returned in April 2010 and this was very helpful. Not to mention extremely pertinent to caring for her through the pregnancy with Charlie. 

"And," Dr. Barrington, smiled at Mac, "I suspect that there was a little bit of ego involved in his wanting me to see what he'd done. The man is a genius. I doubt that there are a half a dozen doctors on the planet would have attempted what he did. Just keeping you alive through it was a feat. Luckily, he had an almost unlimited supply of whole blood, being military. But, still, he was a kid going against all of the conventional wisdom that says when confronted with uncontrolled uterine hemorrhage, the first line of treatment is to save the woman's life by doing a hysterectomy."

No, it was not the sharing that surprised MacKenzie, it was that Dan had copies of the records to give. When she said as much, Dr. Barrington had smiled and told her that she was sure that what she had seen, what Shivitz had were the originals of records that he had "liberated" from the military hospital's file room.

"Assuming that Danny has the originals, could he get into trouble for taking them? Mac asked worried for her friend. 

"Oh, he does, have the originals, I mean. He took them so that no one would ever be able to learn what happened unless you told them."

"Or they just happen to know Robert Hummel . . ." Mac whispered almost under her breath.

"Hummel?" 

"The manager of the Intercontinental. The person who called for the ambulance that saved my life." Mac didn't want to talk about Jerry Dantana so she changed the subject back to Shivitz. "So, could Danny get into trouble with the Army or the medical licensing board."

"Theoretically, he could, I assume. More likely, the army, I should think. But that assumes that the absence of your records comes to someone's attention who cares." Dr. Barrington paused. "It wasn't the first risk of censure that he took to protect you," she added. "If he'd had to readmit you in the weeks after . . . the . . . surgery, and it was discovered that you'd been unable to stay at the hotel or function on your own and had been living with him . . . I think the consequences of that would have been much worse."

"You know about that?" Mac's mouth gaped open. 

"Yes. He continued to make notes about your condition while you were with him, before you left for Iraq." My God! What did those notes say? What had Denise read?

"I was mistaken about some things then," MacKenzie blurted out, still not sure that she wanted to have this conversation, but also uncomfortable that ending it now would be tantamount to dissembling with Denise Barrington. The doctor only cocked her head slightly, a gesture that reminded Mac of Habib. "I didn't have a miscarriage. I was in preterm labor most of the night and into the morning. The baby . . . my little boy . . . was born alive sometime around 10:00 AM in the morning."

Shock registered on the doctor's face. "What do you mean alive?" It was a silly question even as it came out of Denise Barrington's mouth, but it broke the tension slightly as the two women acknowledged through eye contact the doctor's surprise and inarticulateness. "MacKenzie, he wasn't stillborn?" she amended softly, still clearly stunned by this revelation.

Mac shook her head. "He couldn't breathe very well, but he could move and cry a little. Weakly. Couldn't nurse . . . ." 

Denise didn't know what to say. She wanted to clutch MacKenzie to her breast like the frail child the younger woman looked to be at the moment. So, she said and did nothing. After a few seconds, Mac continued. 

"Then, he just stopped . . . breathing . . . living." Mac sat momentarily mesmerized by the hands in her lap. "I named him though," she looked up and Denise could see that the act of naming the baby had been terribly important to MacKenzie. Was this why Charlotte had been named almost as soon as they discovered her gender? "They!" Christ, where was Will in all of this? Still, Denise remained silent.

"His name was William," his mother finished quietly. "William Duncan, after Billy." It seemed a little odd to refer to her husband publicly as Billy, but no one who was in the delivery suite at Beth Israel could have failed to note that she called Will McAvoy, Billy, or that Sloan Sabbith called him, Bro.

Denise could not contain herself. "Speaking of Billy . . . Mac, how did this all happen? I remember that you said back then that he was mad and hurt, but even so, I can't imagine the man I know allowing you to go off pregnant without a word."

"He did. Well, no, not what you said. He let me go without a word, but he didn't know about the baby. He didn't know until after we'd made Charlie. I told him I'd been pregnant when we broke up on the same day, right after, I told him I was pregnant . . . again."

Okay, Denise thought, some order restored to the universe. But not totally. "Even that sounds out of character for the man I watched go through a pregnancy and labor with you."

"It was . . . is." Mac said simply, and then sighed. "Will came from an alcoholic home. His father abused him every way but sexually, thank God for small mercies. He beat Will and his mother and to a lesser extent his sisters and brother. He verbally abused Will, usually by telling him he was worthless and stupid." Denise closed her eyes, mostly to avoid MacKenzie's which were filling with tears. "I don't think the stupid part stuck, Will knows he's not stupid . . . but, the rest . . ." Denise heard Mac inhale shakily. "Will doesn't expect people to value him or care about him. He doesn't expect love or kindness. Anyway, the way my . . . my confession about Brian . . . ." Denise opened her eyes, and Mac could see confusion forming on her face as the doctor looked at Mac closely for the first time since she'd started this story. Mac dropped back. "When I first came here after university and my job in London, before I started dating Will, I had a boyfriend . . . my first serious long term relationship really . . . who dumped me. I was too needy." Mac shook her head and snorted a laugh and reminded herself of Will. "Luckily, there doesn't seem to be such a thing as too needy with Will."

"No, I imagine not," Denise spoke for the first time in a while. "If it were possible, Will would go through the day, all twenty-four hours, with you plastered against his body instead of just the ten or twelve when he gets to touch you at home." It was true, they were pretty much pressed together constantly when there was no one else but Charlotte around. Mac smiled at Denise's observation and the doctor saw some light return to her face. 

"God! This story is so trite!" Mac said suddenly with real disgust. "After I'd been dating Will for a while . . . . I actually didn't sleep with him for quite a long time . . . unlike . . . ." Mac stopped speaking as her own thoughts enveloped her. "You know, I might well hold the record as the person who resisted Will McAvoy in seduction mode the longest."

"When it finally happened, the explosion must have been deafening." Denise observed dryly and smiled at her patient. 

"Pretty much . . . . " Mac smiled back a trifle dreamily. "I'd never experienced anything like it, that's for sure." Mac's face fell. "So, back to the break-up. Not too long after 'the explosion' happened," MacKenzie said with her eyes twinkling a bit at the reference, "my ex, who's name is Brian . . . " There was no need, Mac thought quickly to disclose that he was the author of the New York Magazine article. That can of worms could stay shut. 

" . . . Brian started calling, telling me he'd been a fool, saying he loved me and he wanted to marry me." Mac related this in a voice that clearly conveyed how little sincerity she believed there had been in Brian's protestations. "I think I'd started dating Will in the hope that this would happen, that Brian would find out somehow, maybe read about us on Page Six, and it would make him realize that I was the love of his life. I hadn't counted on it just making him competitive with Will. He asked me to see him . . . Just have coffee or dinner, just so he could talk to me. He can be very persuasive." Mac brought her hand to her forehead and blew out a breath. "I was an idiot . . . ."

"And, young," Dr. Barrington observed.

"Not that young," MacKenzie countered as the doctor assumed she would. "As I'm sure you've already imagined, I had coffee with him, and dinner and . . . ." Mac found she really couldn't say the words, she felt so stupid and ashamed. Denise squeezed her hand and nodded. "Brian really was acting sweet and attentive, better behaved than I'd ever seen him. It lasted about four months, during which time, I slept with him three, four times."

That was it? Denise was aghast. That was what had caused so much pain, death and near death. That's what sent MacKenzie to spend three years a war zone. "How or why did it end . . . with Brian?" she asked, which seemed safer than saying any of the other things that were roiling around in her brain.

"I came to my senses and realized, or allowed myself to realize that I was in love with Will. I told that to Brian and said that our relationship was over."

"Ouch!" Denise said loudly. Mac looked mystified. "Assuming that he wasn't in it completely for the sport of seeing if he could snatch you from under Will's nose, that must have hurt."

MacKenzie was struck again by the realization that most of the anger that had spewed out as venom in Brian's article was actually directed at her. Could some of it have been genuine emotional pain? Did Brian care at all for her? Had he ever? "I suppose," she said slowly. "Certainly being rejected for Will didn't make him happy."

"How soon after you sent this Brian fellow packing did you get pregnant?"

"Oh, not for more than a year." Mac saw the surprise on the doctor's face. "I never told Will about it during that year. I know I was concealing it from him, and that was wrong, but honest to God, Dr. Barrington, I forgot about it most of the time. It was just seamlessly connected to the past, a past that Will knew about . . . I mean he knew I didn't come to him a virgin, he knew that Brian and I had been lovers, but it was a past that was dead. To me it was so completely dead, it lacked all color or emotion." The doctor nodded and noticed that the light had gone out of MacKenzie's eyes again. "That was my mistake. I thought it would be that way for Will too."

"And it wasn't." Dr. Barrington stated the obvious.

"No, it wasn't. As soon as Will heard that I'd slept with Brian . . . which was pretty much the first and only thing that Will heard . . . it was over. I had betrayed him. I had shown him that I didn't love him. His father had been right, no one would ever love him. He went sort of mad with the pain of it. He said that he wanted me out of his life. He left within hours so that I could clear out of the apartment." Denise's heart ached for them both. "For three years," Mac went on, "he wouldn't answer any of my emails, or voicemails or take my calls. I never spoke to him again until the day I walked into ACN after Charlie hired me back again as Will's EP."

"Why did you go back?" 

"Two reasons, well three, I guess. One, I needed to get out of the Middle East before I cracked up. Two, Charlie asked me to. He said that Will was unhappy and needed me. God knows, I needed him." Mac smiled at Denise. "The third reason was that I'd promised Danny when I left for Iraq that I would not let Will die without telling him about his son . . . telling him face to face."

"And events have proved them to be two very smart guys." Then she did stand up from her desk and coming around to where Mac sat, leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thanks for telling me," she whispered in Mac's ear. Straightening up, she continued, "So, Mrs. McAvoy, let's talk about your birth control options. I take it you've been nursing enough that you've not had a period yet . . . ."

They decided on a non-hormonal IUD. But since it can cause heavier bleeding than normal periods, Denise wanted to run the idea by Danny before she did anything. Mac made an appointment in three days to have it inserted. 

"Charlie's still young so you are nursing so frequently that you are probably safe right now, but the problem is you never know when you will start ovulating again." Denise said as Mac was leaving. "There are condoms, you know."

"No," Mac said flatly. "It's a long story, but we don't do condoms."

"A long story," the doctor echoed, chucking softly. "With you two, I'm sure it is. Give my regards to the newsman."


	56. Sunday in November

Will kissed the top go his wife's head. "MacKenzie," he said, "let's do it. Let's make them happy. Go for Christmas and have Charlotte christened at the same village church as Ted, you, your sibs and God only knows how many generations of Ailesbury's or McHale's or whatever you lot are supposed to be called." She laughed at his employing the British slang, "you lot." 

"Really? You're sure? We will have so much shit to lug." She groaned and fell back against him, exhausted just thinking about it. "And such a long tiring flight."

"Why? I'll bet Nessa can lend us most of what we need, or knows another mother who can, or can tell us where to rent it. And something tells me that Grandma Lee would give us the AWM jet if she thought that it would make McMac's and Little Charlie's travel more comfortable."

"You really want to do this, don't you, Nebraska Boy? Take the fruit of your loins to be inducted into the British aristocracy? You're as bad as Jules!" She gave him the smile he loved. How, he wondered, could a single gesture convey so completely and simultaneously the sentiments, "I adore you" and "you're an idiot." She continued, "it'll be a bit of a show, would be even without the McAvoy celebrity factor. The whole village will turn out to celebrate, all the villages in the area, actually, or at least they did for Tessa's and Teddy's christenings."

"Yes, I think that was part of your father's point. It's a event that anchors everyone to 500 years of history and says that whatever the trials and tribulations of this world, life goes on. It renews itself. We renew ourselves as a species." He smiled at the recollection of Ted's using these thoughts as an opportunity to compliment him again on his 9/11 anniversary editorial. He felt suffused with a contentment to which he was only now becoming accustomed. Soon, however, it was replaced by awareness of the warmth of MacKenzie's body. He sat up a little more against the headboard of their bed and adjusted her in his lap. 

"Ah," she said archly, feeling him against her, "thinking of doing a little species renewal, are we?"

"Just practicing these days. Keeping my hand in, so to speak." Mac shook her head despairingly, and lowered it and her eyes as she tried in vain to stifle a snicker. "You know," he continued, "in case I need the ability again later on." 

It was a Sunday morning. The first Sunday of November 2013. They were sufficiently rested that Will could actually contemplate or at least joke about the idea of another baby someday. Other nights and mornings, the ones usually followed by complaints from the Hair and Make-up department, he felt so exhausted, so bone-drained tired that he was sure that if the time ever came that Charlotte was old enough to sleep through the night, he would just sleep forever. Both his sisters and his brother had laughed heartily when he made this observation to them.

Sometimes he found it overwhelming, not in a bad way, but emotionally overwhelming all the same to contemplate how totally his life had changed in one short year. He was in so deep . . . with MacKenzie . . . with Charlotte . . . he didn't know where he ended and one or both of them began. For a split second the shadow of Jerry Dantana crossed his mind. To lose one or both of them . . . he couldn't even open that door for behind it lay pain and desolation of a magnitude that he could not let himself contemplate and stay sane. It seemed worse now than it had been holding Mac on the sidewalk waiting for the ambulance. Maybe it was because Lonny and Charlie had both looked at where the bullet had gone in and hadn't panicked. Somehow after that, he had never really thought that she would die. His fear then was that she would lose the baby, but back then, he realized, the baby had still been an abstraction to him, and his concern had been for what the loss would do to Mac.

But now that his daughter was here, everything was different. He felt love and the need to protect in ways he never thought possible. He looked at the rise and fall of Charlie's tiny chest and kissed the side of MacKenzie's head. He had a child! And it was also MacKenzie's child! Not that it would be anyone else's, but still, his good fortune took his breath sometimes. He had never wanted children as a concept, never thought about perpetuating the McAvoy genes or name, fearing perhaps that despite his sisters' and brother's children turning out fine, it would be his father's traits that he would pass along. But then MacKenzie had come into his life, and he had started thinking about what it would be like to have a tiny replica of Mac to hold and cuddle and surround with love and protection. When she left him . . . no, when he sent her away, he corrected, for that was the truth . . . she took all thoughts of children . . . all thoughts of the future, really . . . with her. 

And now, it was all his, this fantasy from years ago. While Charlotte's hair seemed to be settling on blonde (she had been born something of a ginger that could go either way), her eyes were the color of melted caramel, a little lighter than Mac's and with a bit more green, but they were unmistakably her mother's eyes. Maggie had been right, when Charlie recognized him now, she lit up exactly the way Mac did when he entered a room. He looked over at his sleeping baby and then at his wife, who had been watching him as his mind wandered with a look that melted his heart. MacKenzie was his! She tied his tie every evening before the broadcast. She infuriated him beyond reason. She was in his ear when he needed help to not embarrass himself in front of two million people. She wrapped her body around him each night as he fell asleep. She renewed him, had given him back hope and courage. She had gone through hours of screaming sweating agony and taken a piece of him and propelled it into the future. It frightened him how much he loved her. Well, he smiled to himself, at least that was nothing new. He turned her toward him and kissed her slowly and deeply.

 

They'd initiated their usual Sunday morning Skype call with Ted and Margaret only to discover that Jules, Ness, Tessa and Teddy were all having a mini-holiday in Surrey with the "old folks." So, the call had become a family affair. Tessa and Teddy were complimented on how much they had grown since they had been in New York the previous December, Teddy said a few words they could actually understand, and a sleeping Charlotte was held up before the computer's camera and greatly admired.

"I want to see her in person," Tess had said, "she's my cousin . . . my only girl cousin . . . and I've never properly (or as Tessa said it, "popaly") met her." That had started them down the road of Christmas and christenings. Everyone said they should come to England for Christmas this year, and that they should make it a tradition of having big family Christmases each year on alternating sides of the Atlantic. Not only would they be together for Christmas, Charlotte could be christened in the village church. A voice of reason in the melee, Margaret offered to send over the family christening gown if Will and Mac wanted to stay put for the Holidays and have Dickie Helmsworth do it in New York. 

"Bollocks to that," Jules had said loudly, which occasioned a shocked gasp at his language from his daughter and a disapproving frown from his wife. "No, really," he'd said in his defense, "Charlotte's a McHale, she's the Earl's granddaughter, and she should be brought home for her christening. At least, that's what I think."

"I don't know," Mac had finally said. "I hadn't really thought about it. She'll only be three and a half months old by mid-December. That's a long trip for a little baby."

"Not to mention her still exhausted parents," Mac's mother added kindly.

"But we'll think about it, okay?" Mac had concluded. Predictably, Ted and Margaret both told her to do whatever she felt comfortable doing. 

 

"So, what do you think?" Will asked, breaking the kiss.

"I think you must kiss better than any man alive. Maybe better than any man who ever lived." Well, that compliment certainly deserved another kiss.

"I mean," he said breathlessly into her ear after moving his lips to it by trailing kisses along her throat, "about going back . . . over . . . to Merry Old England for Christmas. If we're going to do it, we need to start the wheels in motion now . . . ."

"Now! Billy, it's Sunday. You're not going to call Charlie or Leona today," she said with so much conviction that he decided not to confess that he had been going to do exactly that.

"Okay. Tomorrow."

"Alright, then, I'll give you my answer before 9:00 AM tomorrow morning." She was already going to agree to go, and she suspected he knew it. She'd seen that he wanted this, and maybe he was right. Maybe someday, Charlotte would get a kick out of knowing that total strangers had danced in the streets celebrating her existence. Mac was just playing it out because she could and because she enjoyed pretending that there was something that she could deny Will. 

"Tomorrow at 9:00 it is. What shall we do until then?" He asked playfully, nuzzling her neck and shoulder. 

"I'll let you . . . handle that . . . part . . . ." "Part" came out as mostly a moan.

He took things slowly. Leisurely undressing his wife. Caressing every inch of her. When he commented on how the scar under her arm from the bullet wound was barely visible even on close inspection, she'd replied that being sewn up by the Chief of Plastic and Cosmetic Surgery at Beth Israel has it's advantages. The doctor had offered to work on the knife wound scar on her stomach, which Will kissed languidly while Mac discussed her hesitancy about putting her knifing scar under the knife ("no pun intended") solely for vanity's sake. 

"What if something should go horribly wrong? I can just hear everyone whispering discreetly at my funeral about how could I have been so vain, and what was I thinking risking myself for cosmetic surgery when I had this precious baby daughter. At least that's what the UK crowd would be doing. Our show biz friends would probably be more charitable. Besides, what's the point of doing anything until I'm done for sure with having . . . oh, God, Billy . . . children . . . ."

Will had covered the fact that hearing her use the words, "my" and "funeral" in close proximity made his chest tighten and heart pound by moving down her abdomen as she spoke and kissing her more ardently. She was getting her pre-pregnancy body back. He could see the subtle changes. Those glorious swollen breasts were the same, but the rest of her had begun to slim down already. Not that you couldn't tell that she had given birth two months before, but now that she was back to working out, she had tightened up to a visible degree. 

He was exercising too. He had taken as his unspoken goal to make Rebecca's vision come true by walking into the ACN newsroom on his 95th birthday with Mac on his arm, maybe, who knows, to attend a broadcast of "News Night with Charlotte McAvoy." Really, ever since the day in late November when he'd learned that he was going to be a father, he had been hitting the ACN gym with a regularity that astonished almost everyone. He had to admit that most of them knew him as someone for whom vigorous exercise was walking from where he had poured himself a Scotch to wherever he had left his cigarettes. Not Mac and Charlie Skinner, of course, they could still remember the old Will, who had taken care of himself, never drank to excess and only smoked occasionally, the Will who had wanted to feel his muscles ripple under MacKenzie's touch, and who had been painfully aware that his lover was almost fifteen years younger than he. 

Looking at her now, his lover and his wife, Will thought that her body was still as beautiful as the first time he had seen it. Thinking about their first time, he stood up and pulled MacKenzie to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing, Billy?"

"I'm going to awaken your inner slut," he chuckled, referring to her honeymoon confession that she had feared that he would take her enjoyment of oral sex as a defect, evidence that she was not a "nice" girl. It had in fact driven him wild with desire, and he was struck for the first time by the fact that her reaction to her own capacity to derive pleasure from her body had been evidence of just how deep Brian's hold over her had gone and how much it had damaged her. 

 

When he related this observation to Dr. Habib a few days later, the doctor asked, "and does that make what she did more understandable?" When Will didn't reply, he asked, "How long after the first time you made love to her did Brian come back into her life?"

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. Think," Habib pressed.

"Not long."

"No, not long. How many years had MacKenzie and Brenner been together?

"But," Will continued, again not answering the question, "what we had, what we felt that first time . . . and the next time . . . it was . . . different . . . ." Will sat silently reflecting. He knew that first time, as he held her in his arms waiting for their breathing to return to normal that he had found his heroin, the thing that he could not live without. "It felt permanent. Like our being together, our loving each other was just a . . . ." Will drifted off again.

"Just a physical law of the universe?" Habib ventured with a smile.

Will smiled back. "I can't believe that it didn't feel that way for her. I know it did. But still she . . . ." Will raised his hands to convey the thing that he still hated to say or think about.

"But still she went back to Brenner." Will nodded. "The man she had been with and thought she loved for more than three years. The man she went back to for a short time, until she told him that she was in love with you, not with him."

"Yes, but . . . "

"You just can't imagine how someone could have the kind of emotional tie that you felt with MacKenzie and in the face of it, turn to the arms and bed of someone whom they do not love, even knowing that they are risking doing real damage and hurting deeply the person they do love, is that it, Will? No one would do that, would they?" There was a sharpness to Habib's voice that was unusual. 

"That doesn't exactly describe what Mac did," Will said, now defending his wife. "It doesn't account for the fact that she and Brian . . . " He stopped suddenly and really looked at the expression on Habib's face. "It's not what she did," Will said quietly, running his hand through his hair and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Christ! It's what I did. What I did with Nina." Will dropped his head into his hands.

"So let me re-ask my original question," Habib replied, "does your revelation about the influence that Brenner had on Mac's self-image make what she did any more understandable?"

 

"Awaken my inner slut? Seriously? Are you kidding me?"

"Have I ever told you how much I adore your inner slut, Mrs. McAvoy?" Mac rolled her eyes. "No? Well, then, I'll just have to show you." And he did. He drove her insane, beyond all pretense of propriety and beyond all control, until she was first moaning and then screaming his name. Until in her abandon, she woke the baby. 

As Charlotte's shrieks filled the room, Will and Mac began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he lost both his erection and his balance and they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. 

"God, Billy, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he chuckled. "Really, really it is." She looked unconvinced. "No, seriously, I'm fine. Get back onto the bed and get comfortable. I'll get her. She's got to be hungry again."

Will held his wife against him and watched Charlotte suck hungrily at Mac's breast. He kissed MacKenzie's temple and whispered, "don't worry, I'll get mine. It's Sunday. We have all day." 

 

On Election Day night 2013, the News Night staff hosted a surprise party to celebrate the one year anniversary of "Will & Mac 2.0." It was technically the day before the actual date of the engagement, but no one really cared. The off year election featured few major races so the coverage was much shorter and far more relaxed than the marathon of the previous year had been. Everyone who had been there the year before, from Rebecca to the Rockette, was back again, plus Lonny and Lorraine, and the whole crowd was feeling festive. Lorraine catered food and the champaign flowed freely. At one point, a slightly inebriated MacKenzie confided to her husband that she had no idea where their daughter was. To everyone's delight, Will reenacted his "has anybody seen Mac?" moment from the previous year, but this time shouting, "has anybody seen Charlotte?" 

"No, but I still have that information about the Great Lakes Region," Tess called back.

Will froze. "I never heard what you were going to say to me about that, did I?"

"No," Tess giggled, "you were a little distracted as I recall." Just then, Leona walked back into the bull pen with Little Charlie in her arms, and the party continued. 

No one mentioned that it was also two days before the one year anniversary of the filing of Jerry Dantana's lawsuit.


	57. Red Alert

The day started in an unusual way. Rather than awakening to a baby's cries, MacKenzie awakened abruptly from a dream about William. It wasn't what one would call a nightmare, and she hadn't disturbed Will. It lacked the stress of the dreams in which she was pregnant and trying to run through Green Park. In fact, she wasn't pregnant in this one at all. In this dream, she had two children, William and Charlotte. She'd been in the morning room of her parents' London home hovering while an infant Charlotte was being held on the lap of her big brother. Although it wasn't cold in the bedroom, Mac shivered. This William had been a year or two older than the boy in Green Park, but remained a younger image of his father. The dream must have been triggered by the arrival yesterday of the box of family photographs from Rosemary, Mac reasoned, that, and the fact that it had been a day spent largely on the logistics of their fast-approaching (it seemed to Mac) UK trip. She lay back and closed her eyes.

 

After Charlie had been nursed to sleep the evening before, Will and Mac had spent the better part of two hours pouring over pictures of McAvoy babies and children, starting with Rosemary, Will, Karen and James, and progressing through the next generation. There were photos of Will at various ages from a cherubic infant to a lanky teenager. In one, at which Mac stared for a very long time, his arm was in a cast. 

"Not my pitching arm, thank God," Will had observed wryly. Mac silently turned her face into his chest and breathed his scent in deeply for comfort. 

And then they had come across one that included the image of a young John McAvoy. It was taken, Mac assumed, before either Karen or James were born for it showed Will at a little over two, she judged, with Rosemary and his parents. They were all sitting outside on a short flight of steps in the front of what she assumed was their house. The family looked happy. It must have been taken on a good day. MacKenzie recalled Rosemary saying that the violence and alcohol in their home began to escalate dramatically between the time Will was two and three. Maybe this was before, Mac thought, feeling tears sting her eyes, as her throat closed up and her chest got tight. Maybe this is how Will looked before he learned that no one and nothing, especially not the feeling of being loved and protected, was to be trusted or would last for long. He looked so happy there in his mother's arms but the little boy in the picture didn't have much time before the lesson that life was cruel and dangerous would be brought home again and again by the back of a hand and the force of a fist. 

Mac felt physically ill as she frequently did contemplating Will's childhood. For him, there had been no Nebraska equivalent of her sitting quietly and proudly on a stool next to the diplomatic service translator listening to his Lordship converse with the Soviet Ambassador. How had Will triumphed over his beginnings, she wondered. Where had the courage come from to resist his father's powerful influence and endless attempts to reduce him to a beaten, helpless hollow shell? How had he risen out of the ashes and the vomit and the blood and the alcohol to develop self-esteem and make himself into the man who was honored by Northwestern University last Spring . . . the man who helped shape the American political discourse and the opinions of millions? Where had he learned to allow his emotions, his loving nature, his goodness free enough reign to become the Nightbird? The Nightbird, who when they were alone, caressed her with such exquisite tenderness and serenaded his Littlebird with songs on his guitar.

True, John McAvoy had gotten in one spectacular victory. He was the monster, she was sure, who had hijacked her Billy the morning that she had tried to tell him about Brian and the baby. And not to mix metaphors, but she had to admit to herself that she had handed John McAvoy all the cards. If she had only given Will her news in the opposite order . . . Christ! . . . what a little change that would have been . . . so inconsequential . . . a coin toss of where to begin . . . everything would have been very different. Mac was sure that if she had done so, the scene with William and Charlotte in the morning room would be her life, not a dream. She was sure that if she had looked into Billy's eyes and told him that they had made a baby, that a life he had planted was growing inside of her, and that she loved him and this new little person more than she had thought one human could possibly love another, he would have believed her with a faith that nothing, not even his father's voice, could shake. It would not exactly have been a matter of "Brian, who?" but if she had been able to tell Will what had transpired for her during her short time with Brian . . . tell him while holding his hands to her womb like she had when she told him about Kabul, MacKenzie was confident that they would have gotten through it intact. 

But she had thought stupidly and defensively that she should hold back so that she could use the revelation about the baby to defuse the anger that she feared . . . expected . . . he'd feel when he learned that she'd kept the news about her brief reconciliation with Brian from him for more than a year. What she had been expecting, she thought, was something akin to the reaction he'd had to the news that it had been she holding up the signs at Northwestern. He wasn't angry about the act of making the signs so much as the withholding of the information that she'd done it, been there. 

The last thing that she had expected when she set out to tell him about Brian was what actually happened. She never imagined in her wildest, most paranoid musings that Will could doubt her love for him, that his security in her wanting, her needing him . . . in her feelings for him . . . would be fundamentally threatened by her having run back to Brian's company and occasionally his bed, early on in her relationship with Will. Of course Will never heard, maybe not really until the Hair and Make-up Room on the day he asked her to marry him, that it had happened early in their relationship. What a royal fucking cock up that morning seven years ago had been! She felt the old bitter drink of anger well up and burn her throat, anger at Will's parents, anger at herself and anger at her husband. Mac could feel her emotions slipping to the edge of control, her breathing become more rapid, shallow and wheezy and knew that if she didn't refocus, her anxiety level would come to Will's attention. In fact, she was surprised that she gotten this bad without his noticing. That was very unlike her husband.

Then she looked at him. Will was mesmerized by a photograph in which he, a teenager, and his father stood grudgingly beside each other, two armed camps co-existing, but not together. Will was lost totally in contemplation of his father's face. "I look exactly like him," he said in a barely perceptible voice. There was no denying it, if this picture was any measure, Mac thought, John McAvoy had looked strikingly like the man sitting next to her. 

"He was very handsome," she'd replied as matter-of-factly as she was able. Her husband turned toward her and their eyes met. His were clouded with fear and dread, haunted by horrors that she could only know vicariously as pale reflections of what the living of them must have been. "Billy," she murmured, opening her arms. He slowly put the snapshot back into the box on his lap, which he then placed carefully on the coffee table. He came to her, seeking her warmth, her strength, her life and her love. He reveled in the fact that they were all there, always there waiting for him, whether or not he deserved any of it. 

She had made love to him where they sat on the sofa. Made love slowly, quietly, tenderly, while tears of empathy fell onto his naked chest. Afterwards, as they had lain still wrapped together, feeling the sweat cool on their skin, she had said to him, "Billy, you must know this . . . believe this . . . you are nothing, nothing like your father. You have a relationship with Charlotte . . . you communicate with her already at nine weeks old in a way that your father could never do with any of his children, never even fathom doing at any time in his life. You came from him, but you made yourself. Charlotte is the luckiest little girl in the world because she has you for a father, Will McAvoy." She shifted so that their eyes would meet. "You are the only man whose children I have ever wanted, and that is not just because I love you more than is probably sane." She paused as his lips quivered in a sad smile. "It's because you are the only man I've ever trusted to raise a child I'd bring into the world." He'd said nothing, just closed his eyes as she climbed back on top of him and kissed away the tears that leaked from the corners.

 

MacKenzie rolled over, looked at the time on her phone and listened for her daughter's cries. She had already checked in a mild panic that Charlie was breathing when she'd realized that the baby had not moved for almost five hours. Now, in the still dark room, she heard stirrings and the smacking of Charlotte's lips as she sucked air. Soon, these sounds were joined by the beginnings of a whimper when the baby awakened sufficiently to register hunger and frustration. As Mac reached for her daughter and lifted the tiny form from the infant cot, Will started to awaken. No, she thought, this man, who was so attuned to his child that her slightest movements had the capacity to bring him out of even the most exhausted sleep, was nothing at all like the selfish angry man his own father had been. Mac thought about her mother's observations when she'd visited right after Charlotte was born. Yes, indeed, Will was a "brilliant daddy" and a "keeper" for sure.

Three hours later, all three McAvoy's were clean, fed, dressed and ready to leave for the studio, when Bobby arrived to drive them. It was November 11th, a new week, and it looked like it was going to be just another day in Paradise.

At the morning pitch meeting, Will decided to use a shooting that had occurred the evening before at a Texas high school birthday party in which two teenagers died and many more were injured as a segue to an editorial that would raise the question of whether our society is paying too high a price for our current broad interpretation of the scope of gun ownership protected by the Second Amendment. Mac, Will and Jim also tentatively decided that they would prominently cover the destruction from the Philippine typhoon, the progress of the diplomatic efforts to defuse the tinderbox that was Iran's nuclear program, the climate summit in Poland, and the latest U.S. drone strikes and the Pakistani protests against them. People were given their assignments, and then, as they usually did after the pitch meeting, Will and Mac went to their separate offices. Will was going to draft his script and editorial and Mac went to work on refining the rundown.

After a few minutes roughing out his thoughts for a discussion of the Second Amendment, Will started Googling mass shootings on the internet. Perhaps because of his conversation with Rebecca a few weeks before, or because he wanted to get away from recent events like Newtown, he began reading news reports about the 101 California Street shooting twenty years before in San Francisco. At approximately 2:45 on a blisteringly hot July day, a disgruntled and unbalanced former client named Gian Luigi Ferri entered the law offices of Pettit & Martin, armed with several semi-automatic weapons, one of which was modified with an aptly named device called a "Hellfire trigger," that enabled it to fire at the rate of a fully automatic weapon, some 10 to 15 rounds per second. 

Will read of Ferri's walk through the law offices meting out punishment in the form of senseless death and maiming on a world that had at least in his mind, valued him too little. Ferri began his retribution by firing through the glass wall of a conference room in which Jody Jones Sposato, the young mother of a nine-month-old baby daughter, sat giving a deposition in a wrongful termination and sex discrimination action against her former employer who happened to be represented by Pettit & Martin. Within minutes, Sposato and her thirty-five year old lawyer were both dead. Will read about the other victims, killed and injured. He read about Pettit associate, John Scully, shielding his wife, Michelle, also an attorney with the firm, from the hail of Ferri's bullets, and then bleeding out in her arms, telling her that he loved her. The bullets that Ferri had used were Winchester "Black Talons." A product of American ingenuity and enterprise, they were hollow point bullets, whose tips mushroom into six sharp points that rotate at a 100,000 revolutions per minute upon entering the human body. 

In one article, he came across a picture that he vaguely recalled seeing at the time and which now threatened to undo him. It was of a young man, Steve Sposato, Jody's widowed husband, testifying in support of gun control before a Congressional committee with his motherless baby daughter in a carrier strapped to his back. Will blinked back tears of empathy and fear. If Donald Cranston had been armed with Black Talons, even a car door might not have been enough to have saved Mac's life. Of course, unlike Meghan Sposato, Charlotte McAvoy would have died with her mother. Dear, God. Will deliberately slowed his breathing and tore his thoughts away from contemplating the death of his wife and child. But he continued staring at the picture, wondering how Steve Sposato had survived the last twenty years. He had just started wondering how to go about getting in touch with the man, when his phone rang. It was his direct line.

"Got a minute?" the familiar female voice said in response to his greeting.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"I just hung up from Rebecca Halliday," Nina Howard said. "I got a call from Dantana this morning asking me to meet with him and his lawyer this afternoon."

"Where?"

"At the lawyer's office. What's his name? Laurance something or other."

"Mike Laurance," Will corrected. "He's an okay guy. I don't see any downside. Did Dantana say why he wanted you to meet with Laurance?"

"It was pretty confused. I think that it might be the lawyer's idea. God knows what Dantana's told his lawyer about me." 

"What did Rebecca say?"

"Pretty much what you've said. Laurance is legit despite his taste in clients. She doesn't see any harm in my going. That I should not commit to doing anything that they ask, just say that I need to think about it. Learn what I can and report back. I'm beginning to feel like a CIA operative." Nina gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Is Dantana still pushing you to publish the Kabul story?" Will asked, although he was certain that he knew the answer.

"Oh, yeah. You'd better believe it. What the fuck did Mac do?"

"What do you mean?" Will asked quickly. Nina explained that Dantana had been ranting about some lies about him that Mac had filed with the court. Lies that she was too cowardly to bring out in the open so she had the documents sealed and he was under court order not to tell Nina about it. 

"What the fuck!" Will exploded. "Jesus, he's such a lying little shit!"

"You're hanging around Rebecca too much, Will. That was pretty much her reaction, word for word," Nina responded calmly. "I gather from her that it was this Laurance guy who asked to have the documents sealed because their content upset Jerry. I can certainly confirm the last part of that statement."

"And I can't tell you anything more," Will said. Changing the subject, he asked, "what time are you supposed to be at Laurance's office?"

"Noon."

"Good luck. I mean, it should be fine."

"You know, Will," she began, "about this business with Mac. I don't think that Dantana's lying . . . ."

"You mean you believe him!" Will was outraged.

"Jesus! Down boy," Nina retorted. "No, I don't believe him. What I'm saying is that I think he does though. Honestly believes it. Will, Jerry's not getting any better. If anything, to quote Paul Simon, he's slip sliding away."

"Yeah." Will sighed. "Take care, Nina. I think the time's come for us to implement an extraction strategy."

"Do we have an extraction strategy?"

"Not really," he confessed, "but I'm working on it."

"Thanks," she replied sincerely. "I'll call you when I leave Laurance's office." And then she was gone.

Will went back to thinking about trying to track down Steve Sposato. Googling the name didn't retrieve anything that Will considered reliable contact information. Then he put the task aside as he got diverted into a dozen other things. Mac came into his office with Charlotte to nurse, and then have an early lunch. There were consultations with Jim and Maggie about the order of stories for the A block. Sloan came in to complain about an economic story getting pushed off to B block. 

It was almost 1:00 PM before Will got back to his half-drafted editorial and the quest to locate Steve Sposato. Sposato had been an active advocate for gun control legislation. Maybe one of his sources in the movement would know how to reach Sposato, Will reasoned. He was running out of time, so he decided to start at the top. Will called Dan Gross, President of the Brady Campaign to End Gun Violence, whom Will had gotten to know rather well after Gross invited MacKenzie to introduce Gabby Giffords at a fundraiser the Campaign had hosted the previous Spring. Gross indeed knew how to contact Sposato and gave Will both a telephone number and an email. 

Will thought about sending an email asking Sposato to call him, but reasoned that he didn't have that kind of time. So, not knowing exactly what he intended to say, Will dialed the number he'd gotten from Gross. It was answered on the fourth ring. 

"Hello." It was a pleasant voice that answered the phone. Will felt unaccountably nervous, especially for someone who had the Vice President's personal cell number on speed dial.

"Steve Sposato? Hi. This is Will McAvoy. I'm the managing editor of News Night on Atlantis Cable News. I got your number from Dan Gross at the Brady . . . "

"Yes, Mr. McAvoy," Sposato interrupted, chuckling slightly that the man hadn't simply stopped after saying his name, "I know who you are. Everyone interested in sane gun laws knows who you are. Also, I have a daughter in college who's active in Greater Fools."

"Really?" Will asked, obviously very pleased. "Meghan, right. I've seen pictures of her on the internet. She's beautiful. And, please call me, Will."

"Yes, Meghan. Thank you. She joined . . . she marched the night . . . well, last Valentine's Day . . . ." And there they were, silent, having arrived at their shared bond. "How is Ms. McHale?" Sposato asked after a moment.

"Mac's well, and if she were here, she'd tell you to call her Mac or MacKenzie." Will knew what Sposato was asking. "Her lung function isn't quite back to normal yet. She's still on an inhaled steroid and needs to use a rescue inhaler sometimes. Hates it all. And, she can be a real pain in the ass about medical stuff and doctors." Will paused. "God, I sound like I'm complaining, don't I?" Will rubbed his free hand across his face. "I'm not, really. Christ," he breathed, "I'm so fucking lucky . . . ."

"Yeah, you are. The baby's beautiful, Will. I saw your 9/11 broadcast."

"Thanks. She's great! She's just started smiling, and her eyes crinkle up just like Mac's do when she smiles. She has her mother's eyes. And, she's getting so big. We already have a whole pile of outgrown clothes. She slept five hours straight last night. That was a major first too." 

Will couldn't see the grin that had claimed Sposato's face while he'd been talking. "I've got three. They're all practically grown now, but I can remember what those first weeks were like. And, no, you didn't sound like you're complaining before. You sounded like maybe life's returned to normal a bit, that's all. I heard MacKenzie speak . . . My wife and I were at the Brady Campaign dinner where she introduced Gabby Giffords. We would have liked to have met her, but we were seated all the way across the room and there was such a crush around the AWM tables, we just gave up."

"I'm sure we . . . can arrange . . . something," Will said haltingly, distracted by the sound of raised voices in the bull pen.

"And how did you ever get Rebecca to attend the Brady dinner?" Sposato asked. When there was no reply from Will, he continued, "she's always provided financial support but she didn't want to do what I was doing with Meghan, make Sarah and Caroline poster children . . . "

Will hadn't heard any of the last things that Sposato had said because Maggie had opened his door with a tight worried look on her face and started to tell him that it might be nothing, but there had been a yellow news alert about shots being fired in a mid-town office building. Now, the alert was red and the building had been identified . . . Mac wanted him in the conference room . . . .

"Mr. Sposato," Will interrupted quickly.

"Steve."

"Steve, I hate to do this but we've got a breaking news situation here and I'm going to have to go. May I call you later?" Almost without waiting for the polite and expected reply, Will hung up.

 

MacKenzie McHale stood in the door of her office, trying to get a grip on her emotions. She'd been following the news alert about the gunfire in mid-town for about five minutes, and after a couple of initial seconds during which everyone in the bull pen seemed to hold their collective breaths waiting for her to fall apart at the mention of gunfire, they'd been working it like any other news story. That is until the next alert had included the address of the office building. It was 1700 Broadway. It had sounded vaguely familiar to a number of them, but no one placed it until Neal located it on Google Earth. 

"Mac," he'd said in a subdued and cautious voice. "Look at this." She walked to his desk and looked at the monitor. "If I'm not mistaken," he continued, "this building is where . . . "

"Mike Laurance has his office," she finished for him in a whisper.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure of it."

"I'm absolutely positive," she replied in a slightly stronger, calmer voice. "Have they said what floor the shots were fired on?"

"Not that I've seen," he answered.

"Listen up, people," Mac raised her voice to be heard above the general commotion. "Will everyone with contacts at the NYPD please use them to ascertain what floor the gunfire at 1700 Broadway was heard on. We don't need anything official or on the record at this stage. We just need to know. And, also," she took a steadying breath, "you should be aware that the address on the alerts is the building where we've been going for depositions." People stared at her transfixed. "It's where Jerry Dantana's lawyers have their offices. We'll meet in the conference room in three minutes." Then she walked to Maggie's desk and glanced at the lights on her phone. Will's private line was engaged. She turned to Maggie. "Get Will off the phone, please. Have him meet us in the conference room." Then she turned and walked back to her office to check that Charlotte was still asleep. 

As Will and Maggie entered the conference room, Mac asked, "did you tell him?"

"Sort of," the young woman replied.

Before anyone could say anything more, Neal looked up from his laptop and said that Fox was reporting unconfirmed sources saying that it was now a hostage situation, just as Reese raced in demanding to know why Will wasn't on the air. 

As Will started to say, "wait a minute," Mac began to explain to Reese that they were trying to get more information and some confirmation from NYPD sources.

"I've got it!" Gary shouted making his way across the bull pen. "The shots were heard on the 12th floor of 1700 Broadway. My source told me that we can go with that."

"Oh, God," Mac breathed, sinking into a chair and looking at Will for the first time. "The 12th floor. Mike Laurance is on the 12th floor."

Will seemed to be gazing at nothing. Then a moment later he said simply, "Nina."

"What?" Mac wasn't sure she'd heard him properly, the word, the name, was such a non-sequitur. Then she followed her husband's eyes as they tracked up to meet Reese Lansing's. Reese had heard Will too, and while he looked stricken, he did not look confused. 

"What's going on?" she demanded. "What does Nina, and I assume you mean Howard, have to do with any of this?"

Will looked at his wife. Sweet Jesus, he thought, this was not how he had envisioned telling Mac about Nina's espionage with Dantana. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how he'd envisioned doing it, but he was sure that in front of the entire News Night staff wasn't it. Now, he could see anger rising on MacKenzie's face as he contemplated how and where to begin. He decided to begin at the end and work backwards.

"Nina had an appointment at Laurance's office today with Dantana and his lawyer at noon." Mac blanched as the full implications of Will statement sank in.

"You think she's there now?" Will nodded. "My God," she said softly. Then more forcefully she asked, "and you know Nina was going to Laurance's office today because . . . ?"

"She called me this morning and told me," he replied flatly. Several people around the table couldn't control a sharp intake of breath at this revelation. All looked shocked that Will would be talking to Nina Howard at all, let alone obviously without his wife's knowledge. More than a few looked frightened. Mac just stared at him as if formulating her next question. He didn't wait. 

"A few weeks ago," Will began, "Nina called me to tell me that . . . " He paused, realizing that a number of the people listening to him did not know about Kabul, and trying to think of the best way to speak of it. "She had been approached by Jerry Dantana, taken out for a drink, actually. He wanted her to publish a story about . . . " Mac's eyes widened in shock, but she said nothing. ". . . about your time in Afghanistan. Nina was concerned that if she turned him down, he'd just go to someone else who would do it. So, she's been playing him along, pretending to write the story, and demanding that he give her an exclusive, which she believes so far she's got. She couldn't think of another way to keep him contained."

"Oh, my God." Mac shook her head as if to clear it. "And you've been in on this little cloak and dagger escapade from the beginning?" 

Will didn't answer the question. He doubted that Mac expected it. Instead, he continued, "she told him that she needed corroboration . . . . and he gave her a copy of an affidavit from the case file . . . "

"What!?" 

"Yes." 

Mac didn't know what to say or how to feel. Fear of Dantana, anger at Will, gratitude for Nina swirled in her brain and in her gut. Finally, the anger won. "Jesus Christ, Will! This wasn't a kid's game. You encouraged her to play along with a madman. What the hell were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking, Mac? What was I thinking? I was thinking about protecting you! What the fuck do you think I was thinking?" Although he'd started out relatively calmly, Will ended up bellowing at her in frustration and in the fear that he had indeed gotten Nina into something dangerous, even, God help him, something deadly.

"I'm sorry. I need a moment alone. I can't do this right now. Will, get to Hair and Make-up, and then get changed." With that MacKenzie stood and walked out of the conference room. Her husband rose and followed her. In the middle of the bull pen, she whirled on him. "Don't fucking follow me, Billy! Please just leave me alone!" Seeing the hurt that sliced across his face at her words, she relented, and spoke more calmly. "We need to be on the air in a half hour and I need to process this . . . or compartmentalize it . . . so I can produce this news. She's in there because of me . . . because of us. Christ, Will, you sent her into a fucking war zone . . . " She turned and walked into her office, closing the door after her. 

Will just stood there for a long time staring after MacKenzie. Then he turned around himself and walked to his own office. 

In the conference room, Jim took over, getting people back to the tasks necessary to go of the air with breaking news. As the staff filed out, subdued and somber, Sloan came up to him. "Do you want to take Mac, Jimmy Olson, and I'll take Will?" 

"Don't you think that I should just leave her alone?" he asked.

"No," Sloan replied, "absolutely not. I'll take Mac, if you think you can handle Will."

"Sure," he said, sounding anything but sure.

"No, you're right. We should stick close to home on this one. You get Mac. I'll go to Will."

Jim knocked softly on Mac's office door. She could see that it was Jim through the glass. "Come on in," she called.

"Hey," he said softly.

She was sitting at her desk, with her hands cradling her head. She looked up. "Sloan's gone to Billy?" she asked, smiling a trifle when he nodded. "That bleeding motherfucking idiot!" she exploded so suddenly that Jim actually jumped.

"Yeah, I guess." He didn't sound so sure. He'd have probably done the same and encouraged Nina to do whatever it took to protect Mac. "Mac are you concerned . . . you know . . . that Nina's doing this to make a play for . . . Will? 'Cause, even if she did, you know, he'd never . . . " Mac looked at him. Well, she thought, Jim's defending Will's integrity, would the wonders never cease. 

"No, I don't. And I know Will would never . . . I trust Will with my life," she said looking, not at Jim, but over at the little Moses basket in which Charlotte McAvoy slumbered peacefully unaware of the drama that raged around her. "And I don't think that Nina would go after him again. She told me that she was sorry that she'd deleted Will's message to me the night of the bin Laden broadcast because it had robbed me of the chance to hear the tone of his voice when he said that he'd never stopped loving me. I think that she feels like an idiot for ignoring what she knew to be true the last time. And guilty . . . which is why she's been playing Mata Hari to protect me." Her voice trembled, as she sighed something that sounded like, "oh, God."

"You know, Mac, Nina Howard is an adult. She knew . . . knows what she's doing. You are not responsible for her decisions, and you are not responsible for Jerry Dantana's actions. And maybe we are all leaping to conclusions. There are other offices on that floor . . . on the 12th floor of that building." She gave him a pained look. "No, Mac, you don't . . . we don't know for sure."

"Were you in on this?"

"No. I wasn't in the loop. But I'm pretty sure that there was a loop. This wasn't something that Will and Nina were doing all alone."

"I'm sure. I can probably name the loop and so can you. Reese, Rebecca, Charlie and Leona. I could just throttle the lot of them for hiding this from me." She smiled a wan smile. "But I'm done taking it out on Will. I need to help him go on the air . . . get through today . . . however it turns out. You can tell the others that I'm okay, and it's all going to be fine. I probably won't even make him sleep on the sofa tonight." 

When Jim left, Mac sat for a moment, studying Charlotte's placid, contented little face, and thought about the night of the bin Laden broadcast. So many highs, figuratively and literally (the thought made her smile), and so many lows, well, one great big one, anyway. If only she had heard her phone ringing when he had called. Then there would have been no message to hack and delete. She felt pretty certain that by the time he called, she'd been crying too hard to hear the phone, or perhaps he'd called so late that she was already trapped in the nightmare, trapped in Kabul. 

But, before, in the studio . . . . From the moment Will had put his hands on her shoulders and asked her to keep his secret and help him do the broadcast, maybe not in so many words, but that was what it had felt like, they had been joined, attuned on a cellular level. She had been high as a kite herself for most of the broadcast, feeling closer to Will than she had in years, maybe even ever, at least while doing something that didn't involve the exchange of bodily fluids. In fact, she thought, the absence of a sexual outlet had made the energy between them all the more intense. When he'd looked into camera one, she'd seen Billy's eyes looking into hers. The control room had receded and it had just been the two of them. When he'd told her that he wouldn't let her down, it had felt like more than a promise not to say that we'd killed Obama, it had felt like a promise of a future of . . . well, of her life, a promise of love and passion and comfort and fits of giggles over nothing and chubby little McAvoy babies. And then it had been over, Billy had vanished and Will was frozen and distant, and she had gone home alone. Mac wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as Charlotte's cries of hunger dispelled the painful memories and brought her back to reality.

 

When Sloan had knocked on Will's door, he thought for a moment that it was Mac, and tried to hide his disappointment as she entered.

"Sorry, bro, it's just me," she said acknowledging the expression on his face. "She'll be okay. I know it was hard when she asked you to leave her alone, but she won't stay mad at you for long." When he looked dubious, she continued, "it's true. She couldn't even stay mad at you when she should have, when you were screwing around with Nina and all those other women you shoved in her face, or keeping the threat of firing her over her head or . . . "

"Aren't you supposed to be trying to make me feel better?" he inquired, realizing that strangely he actually did feel better. 

"Do you think it's Dantana?" Sloan asked, abruptly changing the subject. "The guy with the gun?" Will's stricken expression answered her question. "You do; don't you? You think this whole meeting with Nina was a set up. Have you tried Nina's cell phone? Yeah, of course you have."

"Just rang and then voice mail picked up. I only called once because it dawned on me that Dantana might have her phone and seeing my name could make things worse . . . put her in more danger. Christ!"

They walked to Hair and Make-up, talking through what they knew, and when they got back, Will went into the bathroom and put on his suit. Just as he emerged, there was knock, and before Will could answer it, the door opened to Mac with Little Charlie in her arms. "Mind if we come in and eat?" she asked. Sloan shot Will her best "told ya so" grin.

But before Mac could get comfortable with Charlie, Tess dashed in to announce that she had made contact with an employee of an insurance brokerage firm that was one of the other tenants on the 12th floor of 1700 Broadway. Her contact had heard the shots and confirmed that the gunfire sounded like it had come from the Law Offices of Kendall & Laurance. She gave Tess the cell phone number of the receptionist at the firm who was a personal friend. They had been together in the women's restroom shortly before the shooting started, but she had left first and didn't know whether her friend had gone back into her office or not. She'd been unable to get her friend on the phone. 

"Okay," Mac said, "Billy, let's go with this. Keep Reese from having a coronary. Sloan, will you go and grab the sling from my office. I'll finish feeding Charlie in the control room." When they were alone, Will got up from his desk, walked over and sat down beside his wife and daughter. He ran a finger along Charlie's cheek and then continued the motion along the curve of MacKenzie's breast. Neither of them said a word. 

 

"Okay, Billy, can you hear me?" Mac asked him from the control room after he had gotten situated at the news desk.

"Barely. We really need to teach that kid some manners," he responded, referring to the sucking and smacking sounds that were emanating from the sling around his wife's torso. Mac looked over and saw Herb smiling as he cued up the Breaking News logo. 

This isn't going to be easy for Will, she thought as she heard the music begin. He was clearly worried about Nina. Worried and guilty. "Billy," she said softly, "I love you. I love you every minute of every day and that's never ever going to change." She wondered if he would remember her saying a slight variation of this to him in Lonny's car the night, morning, after their engagement. She thought from his expression that he did. "Let's go, Billy. We can do this."

And so they did. They reported what they knew. ACN was the first network to identify the offices of Kendall & Laurance as the location from which the gunshots had been heard, and mentioned before anyone that the firm represented Jerry Dantana in his lawsuit against ACN. Will conducted a telephone interview with the young woman Tess had contacted, who despite being obviously shaken, was clear and articulate. People were switching to ACN by the thousands when they realized that it was more than the canned regurgitation of the same basic information that everyone was running with. Reese had to admit that Mac was correct again. Waiting to go on the air had been the right move. 

A couple of hours later, when they were getting ready again to break into ACN's regular programming with another update, Phil Grafton, one of Lonny's men, appeared in doorway to the newsroom with another man no one knew. He was short, balding, middle-aged and wearing a conservatively cut very dark grey suit, white shirt and dark monochromatic tie. If he had been wearing sunglasses, Neal thought, he would look as though he were going to a costume party as a member of the task force in "Men in Black." Neal wasn't far off.

"This is Special Agent Jerome Krowalic of the FBI Hostage Rescue Team," Phil said. No one needed him to say what hostage situation Krowalic was working. Phil looked as if he were going to say something more when Krowalic interrupted.

Although the agent thought he had spotted the pretty brunette leaning over one of the desks talking to a young black man when he walked in, rather than trust the image on her ACN biography page, Krowalic asked, "Is one of you MacKenzie McHale?"

"Yes. I am," she said, straightening up and walking toward the FBI agent. "What can I do for you?" 

At that moment, Will, who had been in his office working on an editorial and some other scripted remarks for that evening's broadcast, opened his door and stuck his head out to ask Tess a question. Just as he was about to speak, he noticed the stranger in the bull pen and heard him saying to Mac, "Mr. Dantana's made a demand. He wants to see you, Ms. McHale."

"What?!" It was Neal Sampat's shocked voice that cut the stillness.

In a blur of motion, Will McAvoy covered the distance from his office to the spot where his wife stood. In the same instant that Will began to move, Agent Krowalic noticed MacKenzie McHale's hands come up reflexively to cradle the cloth sling that was wrapped around her body, and it registered for him that it was not an article of clothing but rather an infant carrier. Like women from time immemorial, MacKenzie McHale was working while wearing her baby.

Will found his voice mid-way across the bull pen, in a single shouted, "no!" Then he was there, and in a movement as liquid and seamless as a dancer's, he stepped between his wife and the FBI agent, angled slightly so that his shoulder and back were toward Krowalic, while at the same time, bringing his arms up and around McHale and their child. Krowalic thought it had been done masterfully. MacKenzie now stared at him blankly over one of the arms that her husband had wrapped around her body.

But Special Agent Krowalic wasn't looking at MacKenzie McHale any longer. His gaze was fixed on the stunningly blue, fiercely protective and utterly terrified eyes of the face of Atlantis Cable News.


	58. The 12th Floor

The woman was dead.

He was sure of it, he thought for the thousandth time. From the place on the floor of his conference room where he had dropped when the gun went off, Michael Laurance had watched as her pleading expression had become placid, and focus and sentience had left her eyes. Or perhaps the word he was searching for was flaccid, not placid. Her expression had been too fearful in its last seconds to call it's repose placid. He didn't usually have trouble with words. But Laurance's mind was not working properly. Neither was his breathing, pulse or body temperature. He was shivering, gasping for breath, with the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had done enough personal injury work to know that he was suffering from stress and extreme anxiety or what most lay people called shock. However, he did not think that it was actual clinical shock which can be life threatening. He thought he was at least temporarily okay.

She had not been as lucky. But there were small mercies. He had heard that the dead could be frozen in a grimace, and if that was true, he was thankful that it had not happened to her. He was thankful, he reasoned, both because she would care about her appearance and because he did not know if he could stay sane looking at her face frozen in the throes of a painful death. In it's way, bleeding out was not a particularly painful way to die, assuming that shock dulled the pain of the wound that was hemorrhaging. Most of what made it bad seemed to come from having time to contemplate one's own death. Give me a good old massive coronary any day, Laurance thought. 

He had begged Dantana to get help right after he shot her, told him that it would be so much better for everyone if she lived. He would testify that the shooting was an accident. But Jerry appeared to have gone into a catatonic state, a trance with his finger on a semi-automatic weapon. Mike Laurance felt that a braver man than he would have rushed Dantana as he stared transfixed at what he had done, a faster, more athletic man, a younger man. Laurance felt sure that if he had tried, Dantana would have reacted and shot him too. And she would still have died. 

He found himself wondering if Will McAvoy would have rushed Dantana. Laurance had liked McAvoy, and had been impressed by his skills as a deponent. Not all lawyers made good deponents, Laurance thought. Some of them made terrible deponents because they could not resist the urge to try to win the case with their testimony. But McAvoy had. His answers had been brief to the point of circumspection, but always directly responsive to the question. Laurance had occasionally watched News Night before Jerry Dantana had been referred to him as a client, but now, after meeting McHale and McAvoy, he was a devoted viewer. 

Would McAvoy have rushed Dantana, Laurance wondered again. Would he have tried to save a life even if he knew, as Laurance had, that the attempt would have been hopeless. Would it have been hopeless for McAvoy, he wondered, certainly McAvoy was in better shape than he and physically larger. Either way, Laurance was sure that if it were MacKenzie McHale bleeding out, McAvoy would have tried to take Dantana down. In fact, Laurance imagined, for her, McAvoy would kill Dantana with his bare hands. But for another member of his staff? He imagined that McAvoy was the heroic type, but that just might be a product of Laurance's own guilt and insecurities. Laurance shook his head to bring his mind back to the present.

Things had been going badly for a while, he thought. Laurance almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that observation under the current circumstances, and worried that he was losing his grip on his emotions and quite possibly, his mind. Although in hindsight it had been true from the beginning, in the last six months or so, Dantana had been increasingly focused, obsessed really, with McHale. It had gotten to the point that Laurance tried to dissuade him from attending the depositions of the ACN personnel because he would mutter like a madman or comment out loud about her when her name was mentioned in a question or answer. These outbursts were usually greeted with confusion and discomfort by the witnesses, but with nothing but impassive, serene reserve by Rebecca Halliday. She was, Laurance knew, biding her time until she got him on the witness stand. She would dismember him.

For several months now, Laurance had been living with the realization that he could not risk having Jerry Dantana testify in court. It would not take long for Halliday to goad him into saying something about McHale that would reveal him to be irrational. In a wrongful termination case, the inability of the plaintiff to project to the jury, the image of a competent, even desirable, employee was fatal. To have the plaintiff appear irrational was worse than fatal. Irrational! Jesus! Laurance sent a surreptitious glance in the direction of the madman who sat silently in a chair holding his finger on the trigger of a gun that he was cradling in his left arm like a baby.

Baby, Laurance thought, the baby, the McAvoy baby! Jesus, the baby had become as much a focus of Dantana's obsessive behavior as her mother. After reading the restraining order papers and his phone call with Rebecca, Laurance had confronted Dantana and probed the story that his client had been in the building to visit the morning show host (Laurance seemed to have a mental block about his name), saying he'd like to call the guy and confirm their appointment. Dantana had thereupon confessed that he hadn't been in the building to meet anyone, and that he had in fact been trying to gain access to the nursery. He swore that he had no intention of hurting the baby. He had just wanted to get close enough to her to get some DNA so that he could prove that the child was not Will McAvoy's. 

Laurance had been so shaken by this admission that he had gone home and violated the cannons of ethics by recounting the events to his wife. She had been horrified, and had begged him to please find some way to disengage himself from representing Dantana any longer. He had told her that he was working on settling the case, and that given his investment of time, he didn't want to just walk away with nothing to show for it. Laurance had been trying while negotiating the restraining order with Halliday to broach the subject of settlement in a way that would, he hoped, make him appear less desperate than he was. She had not seemed completely unresponsive. She had simply pointed out that she did not think that any settlement that AWM would offer would be in a range to satisfy his client. Now, Laurance wished desperately that he had listened to his wife and simply told Dantana that he was withdrawing as counsel, although, as he looked at the dead eyes of the woman lying beside the conference room table, he wasn't sure that he would have survived that particular conversation.

The path to this day and hour had begun three days before when Dantana had gleefully confided to his counsel that he had someone, a reporter, who, like him, "knew what McHale was really like" and "hated her and McAvoy," and with whom he had been discussing publishing the story of MacKenzie's time in Kabul. Laurance had just gaped at him as he realized that in his lust to hurt McHale, Dantana had lost all contact the reality of his situation, let alone with the strategy and tactics upon which Laurance thought that they had agreed in order to try to settle the case. He felt sick. Dantana was willing to blithely sacrifice the only possibility under which either of them was going to recover anything from this sorry mess if he could embarrass McHale. If Dantana got someone to publish whatever he wanted to say about McHale's experience in Kabul, there was no doubt that neither McAvoy nor Halliday would have any reason not to take the case to trial and do their damnedest to make Jerry Dantana crack under cross-examination. 

The story that Jerry had told Laurance at the intake interview was very different from the one that the unfolding evidence was presenting. However, to a certain degree, this was an experience that every litigator expected to have, what one of Laurance's colleagues called, "serial candor." Yes, Laurance pondered, institutional failure was going to be harder to prove than he had thought. He was also walking a knife edge since what institutional failure he could see mainly had to do with McHale and the ACN staffers failing to uncover the fact that Dantana had altered the raw footage or their yielding a bit too easily to Dantana's unceasing and unrelenting full court press from the first Red Team meeting that the story was ready to air. As Rebecca Halliday had so succinctly reminded him, "Pay my client money because you failed to properly police his actions" is a hard sell in court. It brings to mind for jurors, she had added, the joke about the man who murdered his parents and then pleaded for leniency on the grounds that he was an orphan. 

What made matters worse, Laurence reflected in the stillness and from his place on the conference room floor, was that Jerry had stopped believing that the Genoa report was false and that airing it was an institutional failure for which he may well have deserved to have been fired. Their case had been built around this admission, and the argument that what made Dantana's firing unfair and illegal was that he was the only one let go. Now, Jerry wanted to testify that General Stomtonovich had confirmed that the Marines used sarin and he was justified in altering the footage because the witness had changed his story, and MacKenzie McHale had retracted Genoa because she is a jealous, vindictive bitch who saw him (and his presumptive Peabody award) as a threat to her job. That Jerry Dantana would be a disaster on the witness stand.

On the witness stand! What was he thinking? There would be no witness stand for Jerry Dantana, at least not one in a trial against AWM. Dantana had just murdered a woman in front of his eyes. Holy Mother of God, he prayed. 

Laurance had gotten the name of the reporter who was going to run the McHale-Kabul-baby story out of Dantana by putting him in a position of wanting to boast about her bona fides. TMI and Nina Howard were big names in the business, Laurance was informed. TMI was even considering hiring Dantana and beginning to do "serious investigative reporting." Laurance hoped that he was able to keep the skepticism off of his face. He was vaguely aware of TMI's reputation and could not imagine it transforming into a serious journalistic publication. More than that, he could not imagine anyone hiring Jerry Dantana to sweep the floors, at least not without supervision, in his present state. And that was before this! 

Laurance figured that his only chance of saving the settlement, and therefore his own payday, was to convince Dantana that his financial interests should trump his thirst for revenge. He thought that if he could get Jerry thinking that this Howard woman was using him for her own vengeance and financial gain, which was most likely true since there was no downside to her in publishing the story, he might manipulate Jerry's paranoia back to seeing him, not Nina Howard, as his closest ally. He had been furious when he'd heard what Howard and Dantana were cooking up. She must have seen Jerry coming and licked her chops. She didn't have a seven figure potential settlement at risk. 

Laurance had made a substantial downward revision in his estimate of what Dantana's case was worth as the weeks of discovery had dragged on. Well, to be honest, the big drop had come when he'd met MacKenzie McHale. She was not the woman Dantana represented her to be. And, as both he and Rebecca knew full well, how the jury felt about MacKenzie was the key to the case. On the other hand, his settlement leverage had little to do with any assessment of AWM's exposure at trial. In fact, if he were honest, it had nothing to do the merits of Dantana's case. It was completely dependent on Will McAvoy's desire to protect his wife from having to read about the stillbirth of their premature son in a gossip magazine. By that morning, as he was shaving and preparing himself for the meeting with Nina Howard, Laurance was figuring that Will and Leona Lansing might get McHale's agreement to go as high as $5 million in a settlement structured to bury the Kabul story, but anything higher would run the risk of McHale telling fucking Jerry Dantana to take his best shot. God! He had never felt less like a lawyer and more like a blackmailer in his life. But he'd not been working on much of anything else but this case for months now and someone had to pay his kids' tuition bills. At least, if his own client didn't screw up everything.

So he'd asked to meeting with Jerry and Nina Howard. Physically, she was pretty much as he'd expected, having seen pictures of her on the internet. He had wondered if she and Dantana were lovers but seeing them together in his conference room, he decided that they were not. In fact, while she was friendly and even flirtatious with Dantana, Laurance had picked up on something he couldn't quite place, an undercurrent of unease, if not fear. What had surprised Laurance most was that she really didn't argue with him when he stated that he believed that this would be a very inopportune time from the perspective of Jerry's lawsuit to publish a story about the events in Kabul. Neither did she press him for the basis of this opinion. Rather, she took the bull by the horns and said that she had raised the possibility to Jerry that Will McAvoy would pay handsomely to keep the story out of the press. 

Jerry described the story that TMI was getting ready to print with barely suppressed glee. MacKenzie McHale had cheated on McAvoy with an ex-lover named Brian Brenner and had gotten pregnant with Brenner's child. When McAvoy found out he fired her as his EP and made sure that ACN transferred her out of New York. They had sent her to Afghanistan where she had given birth very prematurely. The baby had been born dead and McHale had tried to kill herself. When the suicide attempt went awry because the hotel maid discovered her unconscious . . . Laurance had involuntarily shivered at that point in Jerry's narrative, recalling the images that Hummel's statement and MacKenzie's own matter-of-fact, yet painful, declaration had engendered in his mind. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes had locked onto Nina Howard's. Her face was an admirable deadpan, one Laurance was sure she had perfected over the years in a mirror, and one, he was sure, that came in very handy in her line of work. But her eyes . . . before she had deadened them . . . when he had first looked into them, he had seen disgust and pain . . . no, empathy, that was it . . . empathy for McHale.

From that moment on, Laurance was determined to get a moment alone with Howard, but when he had suggested it, Jerry had flatly refused to leave the room, telling Laurance that anything that he had to say to Nina, he could say in front of him. Finally, nature had intervened on his behalf, and Jerry had announced that he was going to use the men's room and would be back shortly. 

"Would you like to freshen up your coffee, Ms. Howard?" he'd asked loudly, trying to reassure Jerry that nothing serious would transpire while he was out of earshot.

"That would be lovely, thank you," she'd replied as he rose, picked up her cup and went to where his assistant had laid out the beverage service. Since he put the last of the coffee in Nina's cup, he pushed the button down on a nearby phone and asked that someone bring in some more when they had the chance. He would ask himself a thousand times that afternoon what had been so fucking important about more coffee.

When he walked back to Howard, he sat down beside her. "You know that there is no way that publishing this story is in Jerry's best interests," he said quietly. She gave a slight nod of agreement. "Have you considered whether it is in yours?"

"I'm not sure that I know what you mean?" she asked warily. 

"I mean that McAvoy and the Lansing's are powerful people to have as enemies. Even if you don't work for AWM anymore." She said nothing, just gave him that deadpan look. In a moment, he continued, "also, the McAvoy's are very popular with the public right now, what with the baby and all. Are you sure that the public wouldn't just rally around them if they learned they'd lost their first child that way . . . "

"Well," Howard said, still staring at him expressionless, "that presupposes that you believe that it was their first child. That's not what Jerry . . . "

"Christ! Jerry!" Laurance scrubbed his hands over his face, as the truth started pouring out of his mouth. "Jerry is . . . This is a train wreck about to happen. We . . . I'm never going to see a dime out of this case . . . We will never convince a jury that AWM was wrong holding him responsible for Genoa or that it should have gutted it's entire news division if it was going to fire him. McAvoy and Lansing might pay something to settle the case but only if it involves suppressing the Kabul story. And no one but me seems to give a fuck about any of this. Jerry just wants to destroy MacKenzie McHale. And is willing to throw everything away to do it! Is that what you want Ms. Howard? Are you ready to throw your life, your career away . . . 'cause that's what I think you'll be doing . . . to help him on this insane vendetta? Or will you help me try to put a stop to this madness?"

He saw it in her eyes . . . something . . . something that told him she understood. Still Nina Howard didn't speak. Her gaze was fixed on Laurance, as his was on her. And, that was how neither of them saw Dantana standing just inside of the the glass door listening. It was only when he was walking to his briefcase and retrieving the gun that they realized what had happened.

Suddenly, his voice, whining and on the edge of hysteria, filled the room. "Why, you little fuck! You traitorous little fuck! What did McAvoy offer you to betray me? What are they paying you?" he screamed, aiming the gun at his lawyer. Laurance froze and said nothing, unable to formulate a reply, conscious only of the fact that his legs were shaking and his bladder was threatening to let go. After a moment, Dantana turned to Howard. "And you, what did you agree to do?"

Nina swallowed and found her voice. "Nothing, Jerry. Really. I'm on your side," she said as levelly as she could make herself speak. "Let's all sit down calmly and talk about this." She took a steadying breath as Jerry eyes wavered from her to Laurance, and he looked a bit less sure, a little less murderous. "Mike was just saying that blackmailing Will and MacKenzie with the story might be a better strategy than publishing it, that's all." 

She could see in an instant that she had overplayed her hand, as Jerry was becoming extremely agitated again. He began ranting about how no one ever listened to him or thought that he knew how to handle things, and that he knew what was best, he knew what was true. He was working himself into a frenzy of self-pity just as the conference room door was opened and a young woman holding a coffee pot bustled hurriedly into the room.

 

The woman was dead. She was sure of it, Nina thought yet again. She couldn't see her face which was turned toward the lawyer, but Nina Howard had watched his, as the woman's shoulders and diaphragm had stopped moving. Shortly before, the pool of blood under her body had grown so large that Nina was sure she had gone past the point of survival. What had she thought about in those last minutes? A husband or boyfriend? Parents? Friends? Not a child, Nina hoped, but maybe about the child she would now never have. Although she fought it, Nina's thoughts went to MacKenzie on the floor of the hotel room in Kabul. What had she thought about as she felt the blood flowing from her body? That one was easy. Nina almost smiled. Will. Undoubtedly, Mac had thought about Will. 

Nina refocused and brought her mind back to the present. There was so much blood. Laurance was down on the floor, having either dived under the table in panic when the shots were fired or fallen to the ground to see if he could render aid to his wounded associate. Nina had remained in her chair, although it had taken everything she had to do so. But somehow even as she was processing the madness and the horror, Nina realized that her own survival depended on Jerry continuing to see her as his friend and supporter. And for that, she had to treat him as if he were something other than the madman he had become, so cowering on the floor was out. 

She glanced over at him now. He was still slumped in the chair into which he had fallen several hours before, either from the force of the gun's recoil or in horror at what he had done she could not tell. As he had been doing for most of the afternoon, he was staring at nothing, just looking into space. Nina guessed that he had probably never fired a gun before. He seemed to have no idea of how to aim it. He had not intended to shoot the young woman as she entered to conference room, that had been apparent from the bizarre look of disorientation and panic that her entrance had put on her face. But his refusal to allow anyone into the room, his threatening the few who had opened the door, and his stopping at gun point both Laurance and Nina from calling on their cell phones for medical help had converted it into premeditated murder. Or so it seemed to Nina. Will would know. He could tell her. Assuming she ever saw him again, she thought. She wished that she still wore a watch. She would like to know what time it was, how many hours she had been there, how many hours she had been a hostage, how many hours it had taken Laurance's associate to die. But like so may others, Nina Howard relied on her cell phone's clock. Dantana had taken her cell phone and put it in his pocket after she had reflexively reached for it to get help, assuming that he would drop the gun and surrender himself after the shooting. 

There had been a bad couple of moments later on when her phone vibrated and Jerry had seen that Will was trying to call her. Thank God, she had been able to talk Jerry down with a quickly concocted story about how she had contacted Will because she had figured out a way to trick him into giving a good quote about his breakup with MacKenzie for the article. He hadn't been in, she'd explained, but she'd asked him to call her back. This must be him doing it now. No big deal. As unconvincing as this explanation had sounded to Nina (and to Laurance, who'd been listening from under the table), Jerry had seemed to buy it. This was principally a testament to how desperate he was for an ally, Nina supposed, and since Laurance was clearly out of the running that left her.

Just then, Jerry Dantana's cell phone rang. The sound seemed to jolt all three of the room's living occupants out of their skins. Nina held her breath. Jerry didn't do well with sudden sounds or movement. But he seemed to be okay. He changed his hold on the gun, transferring it more to his lap, and retrieved the phone from his pocket. Nina and Laurance listened to Dantana's end of the conversation, and somewhere along, both came to the conclusion that Jerry was talking to the police. He seemed to be confirming that Laurance and Nina were in the room with him. Although she had been sure that at least one of the employees fleeing the sound of the gunfire would have dialed 911, she was strangely relieved to get confirmation that people in the outside world knew that she was on the 12th floor of 1700 Broadway, the hostage of a madman. The person on the other end of the call was some sort of professional negotiator, Nina surmised, because Jerry seemed to be rebuffing the idea of carrying on a conversation. 

Then her blood ran cold as she heard him laugh quietly and say in a strong, preternaturally calm voice: "Yes, there is something that I would like you to do for me. You can tell that bitch MacKenzie McHale that I have a great big gun and lots of bullets, and Nina Howard and Mike Laurance are in here with me. If she doesn't get her pretty little ass down here right away, I'm going to kill them."


	59. Conclusion

"We are not talking about turning Ms. McHale over to Mr. Dantana as an additional hostage," Special Agent Krowalic said slowly in response to Will's shouted "no."

"You're damned straight, you're not," a commanding female voice said in a tone that brooked no argument. Special Agent Krowalic turned around to see who was speaking, as both Will and MacKenzie raised their eyes to Leona, who had just arrived in the newsroom. 

"You are?" he said, as she pierced him with a look that said that his was the most ridiculous question she had heard in years. 

"Leona Lansing. You're in my building."

Yes. Mrs. Lansing. How do you do?" he extended his hand. "Special Agent Jerome Krowalic, FBI. She shook his hand with a firm no nonsense grip.

"Agent Krowalic, I . . . we would appreciate an update . . . " she started to say when she was interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of Charlie, who had been alerted to the situation by Maggie, and Reese, who had been in Charlie's office. Nodding to them, she continued, "let's take the conference room where we can sit down. 

"Fine," Krowalic said, "although time is of the essence." 

Once Leona, Charlie, Reese, Will and Mac, who had handed Little Charlie off to Sloan, were all seated, Agent Krowalic told them what had been reported to the FBI by employees of Kendall & Laurance . . . Paula Fowler, a third-year associate with the firm had responded to a request by Mr. Laurance that another pot of coffee be brought into the conference room where he was meeting with Mr. Dantana and Ms. Howard. Shortly after she entered the room two or three (depending on the witness) shots were fired. Two employees of the firm opened the door and saw and Mr. Laurance and Ms. Fowler on the floor. Laurance appeared to be uninjured, but Fowler was bleeding. "They did not remember seeing Ms. Howard," Krowalic said. No one but Mac noticed the color drain from Will's face. She reached over and squeezed his thigh under the table and then left her hand on his leg. "When Mr. Dantana threatened them with the gun," Krowalic continued, "they hastily withdrew and called the police." The building had been evacuated, and there was a significant police presence on location, although none were in the suite of law offices. As soon as it was ascertained that there was a hostage situation, the FBI had been contacted.

"I got Mr. Dantana's cell phone number from the law firm records and called it," Krowalic stated. "He was resistant to commencing a dialog, but finally did confirm that Ms. Howard and Mr. Laurance were both in the room with him and alive." Will breathed out for the first time in what seemed like ages. "However, he has threatened to kill them unless Ms. McHale is brought to him." Agent Krowalic finished this statement with his right hand in the air like a traffic cop trying to hold back the onslaught of reaction that he was sure this would engender. It seemed to work as everyone in the conference room froze.

"What are you proposing?" The clipped English accent threw Krowalic off base for a moment until he remembered that someone at the FBI briefing had mentioned that McHale was British and the daughter of a career diplomat. He hadn't really noticed the accent the only other time she had spoken. Her voice sounded calm. 

"We are making attempts to talk Mr. Dantana into surrendering, but . . . " he checked a text message on his phone, "we are still not making any progress in that regard." He paused and looked at McHale before going on. She was made of strong stuff, he surmised. "However, now that he has expressly threatened two lives . . . " Another pause. "We are authorized to deploy the team's sniper to take him out."

"What does this have to with MacKenzie?" It was McAvoy's voice. Mac and Charlie exchanged glances, each recognizing Will's "newscaster voice," the one he could employ at will regardless of the circumstances, the one in which he'd continued to read the news after learning that his father had died.

Special Agent Krowalic cleared his throat. "The sniper will be in a building across 54th Street with a clear view of the conference room in which Dantana is holding the hostages. But he can't see the conference room table, which is were we think Dantana is sitting most of the time. However, the window into which he'll be shooting lines up well with the door from Laurance's conference room to his reception area. If we can get Dantana to move into the conference room doorway, the sniper should be able to get off a clean shot."

It seemed like everyone in the room spoke at once. Above the din, Krowalic heard McHale say, "and I'm to be the bait that moves him into the doorway," as her dark eyes met his. 

"Yes."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" McAvoy exploded.

"Please, hear me out," Krowalic replied, again holding up a hand like a shield. "We will guarantee her safety . . . "

It was Reese who interrupted him. "She has a ten-week-old daughter, Agent Krowalic, and I would think that after Ruby Ridge and Waco, you folks would be out of the business of giving assurances about people's safety."

Krowalic clearly bristled at the younger man's references to the FBI's two more spectacular failures in recent memory. Leona noticed Charlie put a hand on Reese's arm in a gesture that conveyed to her both agreement and restraint. She had expected her son to show resentment at the intrusion, but he did not appear to mind. This reminded her that she'd been noticing that for some months, Reese seemed to look forward to the regular lunches that the three of them had, and was spending more time in Charlie's office. Also, when she'd questioned him about the basis for a couple of major decisions and strategies that he'd proposed, his answers had reflected Skinner's mentoring. When she got a moment, she thought she'd ask Charlie what was going on and when all of this had started. 

It was MacKenzie's voice that broke the silence. "Reese is correct. I do have a very young baby. And," she paused as if for emphasis, "there are two innocent people whose lives appear to depend on the decision we make here. I, for one, need to know more of the details of the operation in order to evaluate it." When McAvoy turned to her with a look of horror on his face, she said simply, "Will . . . " and placed her hand over his as it rested on the table. "Please, Agent Krowalic, go on." 

"It's our intention to bring you up to the reception area of the law office with an armed guard. We will call Jerry and tell him that you are there and that he can speak to you if he will open the door. When he moves toward the door, the sniper will take the shot. If he makes a move to come through that door towards you, Ms. McHale, there will be three agents right there with you to take him down. There should be no danger to you or to the other occupants of the conference room."

"Okay," MacHale said slowly when it was clear that Krowalic had finished laying out the plan. "If you will excuse us, I need to speak to my husband privately." Turning to Will, she said quietly, "let's go into your office." Will stood woodenly and followed her out of the conference room and into his office.

Once there, he took her into his arms. "Mac, you're not seriously . . . " He stopped himself as his voice started to rise. He really didn't want to shout at her. This wasn't easy for her either, he reminded himself. It was just . . . it was just that he was so goddamned frightened. He was trapped no matter what happened. He didn't want to be responsible for Nina Howard's death, or for Mike Laurance's for that matter. But to risk MacKenzie . . . Oh, God, help me, he prayed. 

"Mac . . . Kenz . . . please, please . . . Kenz . . . ." As he spoke, Will McAvoy sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around his wife's body and pressing his face into her abdomen. "We . . . can't . . . " he sobbed, "Charlie . . . Charlotte . . . and I . . . we can't . . .we won't . . . make it . . . we can't live . . . without you . . . ."

"Billy, my love . . . ."

"I'm so . . . so . . . scared . . . ."

"I'm scared too." Mac felt her own tears begin to fall. "I don't want . . . to die . . . . I won't leave . . . you. I won't leave Charlotte." She stroked his hair and the side of his head until the worst of his sobs subsided. "Come on, Billy, come and sit beside me."

He got up and they walked to the sofa where they sat silently side-by-side, holding each other for a moment. Then, he took her onto to his lap and they began talking quietly. Sloan walked up to the door carrying Charlotte who was getting hungry again, but stopped when she saw them through the glass and turned back across the bullpen and let the baby suck on her finger the way Mac had showed her. In the office, Charlotte's parents fell silent, having said everything there was to say. Finally, Mac spoke again. "I can't leave her to die in there . . . Nina . . . . I can't live with myself if I don't try . . . If I don't do everything I can to get her out alive." She kissed him sadly and looked directly into his eyes, losing herself for a moment in the blue. "Neither can you, Billy. We'll be no good for Charlotte if we turn our backs on a friend." He brought his hands up and grasped each side of her face and brought it to his again. The kiss began tenderly and then exploded with passion and desperation as they each tried to use it to tell the other everything they felt.

Finally, Will spoke. He could not bring himself to actually express agreement that she offer herself up as bait for a madman, so he said simply, "I want Lonny involved. I want him to hear Krowalic's plan. If it sounds crazy to Lonny, we'll re-think this, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded. 

Lonny was called and Will and Mac emerged from the office. Mac walked to her own office where Sloan sat with Don and the baby. She took Charlie back from Sloan and put on the sling so that she could nurse while observing Lonny's conversation with Agent Krowalic. She suppressed her reticence to have the FBI agent watch (listen to) her nursing, but there was nothing for it, no time to waste, so with a whispered, "fuck it!" she adjusted her clothing and daughter and walked back into the conference room a few paces ahead of the Assistant V.P. of Security. 

Krowalic bristled at the request that he relate the details of the operation again for this internal security guy. But Church's questions were good and displayed more than a passing acquaintance with the finer points of an op such as the FBI was proposing, and quickly they developed a grudging respect for one another. When Krowalic was done talking, Church sat with his long slim fingers steepled at his chin and thought for what seemed to everyone in the room to be an eternity. In the silence, Krowalic found himself uncomfortably drawn to thoughts of McHale and the fact that her breast was undoubtedly uncovered behind the sling. She was magnificent, he thought, beautiful, brave and obviously extremely intelligent. No wonder McAvoy had crawled through broken glass to get to her. Most people, especially someone who had once been shot, would have panicked at his suggestion that they present themselves as a target for an unhinged man armed with a semi-automatic weapon, but not this woman. He could see that she had been crying, that McAvoy had been too, but who could blame them, certainly not Special Agent Jerome Krowalic. 

Lonny Church cleared his throat, and nearly everyone jumped as they came out of their individual reveries. "I have some conditions . . . suggestions . . ." he amended hastily, and fearing that he was over stepping his bounds, he glanced at Mrs. Lansing and then at Reese and Charlie Skinner.

"Condition away, Lonny," Leona interjected. "That's what you're here for."

"Okay," he gave a curt military nod in her direction that brought a little smile to her lips. "First, Mac wears body armor."

"Done," replied Krowalic.

"Second, you set up a safe area on site where Will and the baby, Sloan, Jim, Mr. Skinner and Mrs. Lansing can wait." Krowalic looked quizzical but did not speak. "If Mac's going to watch Dantana get his head blown off . . ." Everyone heard her sharp intake of breath, but when neither she nor anyone else said anything, Lonny continued, "she's going to need her family around her as quickly as possible." Will tried not to groan, or think about what another trauma was going to do to his wife's emotional health, and made a mental note to bring along her inhaler and spacer.

"Okay, I think we can arrange that. Anything else?"

"Yes. I go in with her." Everyone's face registered some degree of surprise. Even Will hadn't seen this one coming.

"What!? You can't . . . This is an FBI operation . . . ." Krowalic was positively red-faced.

"You know," Lonny interrupted, "I don't care if the op's being run by Jesus Christ himself. If Mac's going to be in that reception area, I'm going to be with her. That's non-negotiable." He paused and stared at Krowalic, whose mouth was drawn into a tight line. "I want to be armed, and if things go south and I happen to be the one who takes Dantana down, I want complete immunity . . . no inquiry, no nothing. Better still, give me an FBI issue weapon and one of you can say you took the shot."

"I'm not sure that I have the authority to agree," Krowalic said turning to MacKenzie, hoping that she would say that Church's being with her was unnecessary. 

"Then I suggest that you get it." It was the first time that McAvoy had spoken since returning to the conference room, and it ended the discussion. Krowalic only nodded, and took out his cell phone.

 

Jerry Dantana's cell phone chirped it's ridiculous birdlike ring. He accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. He seemed almost to be whispering which made it difficult for Nina to make out what he was saying. All she could tell was that something he heard at the end of the call pleased him. He put the phone away and began strutting around the room, brandishing his weapon like an adolescent, and taking aim at random objects, the coffee pot, one of the light fixtures that hung over the conference table, and a print on the wall by an artist whose name Nina had tried desperately to recall in order to take her mind off of the stench of death and fear that filed the room. He began making a sound with his mouth that Nina assumed Jerry thought mimicked a bullet traveling through the air and jerking his hands up in an imaginary recoil. Finally, she could make out that he was mumbling the words, "she's coming," over and over again between his imaginary gunshots. "No, please God, no," Nina thought, even as her mind and heart said, of course, of course, Mac would be coming. 

Nina thought about asking Jerry about the call, but couldn't trust herself not to vomit if she opened her mouth. The pool of blood under the dead woman's body was giving off a sickly sweet odor of decay now in addition to the coppery scent it had emitted when fresh. This plus the slightly burned smell of her skin was mingled in a stench of degradation that Nina supposed she would never get out of her nostrils, assuming that she lived. Nina knew of course that the bowels and bladder voided at death, but even that knowledge hadn't prepared her for the reek of the poor woman's urine and feces as they aged in the room. Then there was the smell of fresh urine, her urine, that was coming from the plastic trash can that she had used when she could stand the pressure in her bladder no longer. She thought about stories she had read of the Nazi transports where a hundred people had a single bucket to use as a toilet, and how the more cultured women tried to hold out but were in the end, forced by nature to relieve themselves, no matter how degraded they felt by the act. Once again, she mused, it was a man's fucking world. Jerry and Laurance had used water bottles that Jerry had emptied into a planter, and that they were able to recap when they were done. Jerry had refused to allow her or Laurance to go to the rest room, nor would he leave them alone. 

"She's coming. She's coming," Jerry Dantana repeated endlessly in a tone that to Nina's fearful ears became more melodic and unhinged with each repetition. 

 

As Special Agent Krowalic was waiting to escort McHale, her bodyguard and her "family" down to the FBI vehicles waiting in the garage, Leona Lansing's cell phone rang. Will could tell from her side of the conversation that she was talking to someone about Rebecca Halliday, and that Leona had a car and driver waiting to intercept the lawyer when her flight landed at Kennedy and bring her to the AWM building. When Lee disconnected, Will started to ask what that was about, but Reese beat him to it.

"That was Sarah. She has ACN on and apparently Elliott just reported the identity of the people in the conference room. She recognized Dantana's and Laurance's names from things her mother has said. She just put Becca on a plane home this morning, which we knew from Bob, so she doesn't think Becca's heard yet. She wanted to be sure that someone would be with her mother when she lands."

The cells in Will's brain that had been imprinted with the words that Steve Sposato had spoken but Will didn't "hear," fired off and suddenly he remembered the man saying something about Rebecca not being willing to thrust Sarah and Caroline into the limelight as he had done with Meghan. "Jack was killed twenty years ago this past July 1st," wasn't that what Rebecca had said? Not died, been killed. 

"Berman," Will said aloud, as Leona turned to him. "Sarah's last name is Berman. Her father . . . " his voice faltered, which caused Mac to look at him with surprise and concern, "was . . . was Jody Sposato's lawyer." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Reese, Charlie and Leona replied in unison like some sort of mournful Greek chorus. 

The small somber little group made it's way down and climbed into the fleet of black SUV's that stood, motors running in the garage. The FBI did not come equipped with an infant seat, and no one wanted to take the time to remove the one that was permanently installed in AWM 3, the car Bobby used to transport the McAvoy family, so Will and Mac both held onto Little Charlie as the driver put the car into gear, engaged the siren and tore out of the garage into Manhattan's evening traffic. As they weaved in and out of stopped cars and dodged the ones whose drivers assumed that the sirens were meant for everyone but them, Krowalic glanced back at the passengers, McAvoy, McHale, their infant daughter and Sloan something or other, an amazingly gorgeous Eurasian woman who he knew was on ACN but whose last name he could not recall. He watched the news anchor holding his wife and child and wondered whether if things went south big time, McAvoy would succeed in strangling him before anyone could get him off. And, if he got McHale killed, would he care, Krowalic thought, as he watched Mac place a kiss on her dozing daughter's forehead.

Things did go south, but MacKenzie McHale did not die. 

When they all got off on the 12th floor, Krowalic took them to the other end of the hall, where the FBI had set up command post in the offices of a small insurance brokerage. A small conference room had been set aside for MacKenzie's family. Krowalic showed them in and then told Lonny that he would meet him and Ms. McHale out in the lobby. The room afforded Mac and Will no privacy, but she was glad in a way. He would not be alone even for a second, and he would keep it together for the sake of the others. The Director of Morale, she thought, and smiled to herself. The body armor made their embrace even more awkward than did the fact that they had an audience, but Will soon lost himself in her, kissing her frantically, moving his hands from cupping her chin to the sides of her face, into her hair and back again, until she reached up in a gesture that took Will back to their first kiss on Election Night and clasp her hands over his in reassurance. 

Leona and Sloan watched them with tears in their eyes. Jim seemed beyond coherence, as emotions warred within him from blind fear that he would finally lose Mac, to understanding why she needed to try to help Laurance and . . . Jesus! . . . Nina fucking Howard, to fury that Will was allowing this thing to take place. When it seemed clear that Will was incapable of letting his wife go, Charlie and Lonny exchanged glances and then Charlie reached up and put a hand on Will's shoulder. 

"Son . . . son . . . You've got to let them . . . ."

Will momentarily startled at the words and that allowed Mac to break the kiss. Sloan quickly handed her the baby, and then turned away so that Mac would not have to see her lose it, even though it was no secret that Sloan could hold back her tears no longer. 

MacKenzie kissed and murmured to her daughter. Then her eyes went wide and she asked, "oh, God, did anyone remember to take the cooler out of the car?" referring to the ice chest that held the little bag of frozen milk and Charlotte's bottle. 

"Right here," Leona answered putting as much strength and calm into her voice as she could muster.

"The diaper bag?"

"Here." This time it was Will who spoke.

"Okay. Okay." Mac held Charlotte's sleeping face up to her lips. "Mummy will be back before you know it, maybe even before you wake up. But if not, Daddy's right here." Mac looked at Will's stricken expression, and turning back to their baby, whispered, "You take good care of your daddy, alright?" With that she handed Charlotte to Will, and started to walk toward Lonny. 

Then, she stopped, turned around and walked to her husband. "You are the only man I've ever trusted . . . . Remember that." Then she smiled, and said quietly. "It's going to be alright, Billy. I'll be back. I promise."

The wait was agony as time seemed to stand still. About ten minutes into it, Rebecca arrived. She had been taken from the airport to ACN and found out what was happening from Maggie. She stormed out of the bullpen as only Rebecca Halliday could, got into a cab and bullied her way through the FBI lines until she got to someone senior enough to have a way to contact the group in the "waiting room." Rebecca came apart when she learned that Mac was being used as bait in an op to take Dantana out. Maggie had left that part out of her explanation. 

"You fucking allowed this? Have you both lost your fucking minds?" she bellowed alternately at Lee and Will. "She has a child! Christ!" The lawyer raked her hand through her hair. "My God, hasn't she suffered enough?"

Will, who was walking back and forth with the child in question on his shoulder, handed his daughter off to Leona, and walked up to Rebecca and took her into his arms. "She had to do this," he said softly. "She said that she couldn't live with herself if she didn't try . . . if she let them die." At his words, all of the fight went out of her and Rebecca crumbled against him and sobbed. She sobbed out of fear for Mac, and grief for the young woman lying dead on the conference room floor, sobbed for Nina and Mike Laurance, who were suffering tortures that Rebecca could only imagine. She sobbed for Charlotte, who was not that much younger than Caroline had been, sobbed for her own fatherless daughters and sobbed for a country that seemed to have learned nothing from twenty years of madmen with guns.

Then they heard the shots. Rebecca fell silent. Everyone froze. No! No! No! Will's brain screamed. There were too many of them. Too many shorts. The sniper had failed. There was a firefight going on and MacKenzie, his life, his love was in the middle of it. He released Rebecca and bolted for the door, almost wrenching it off its hinges as he threw it open. He was stopped by two large FBI agents, who blocked his path. Just as he looked like he was going to take them on, Charlie Skinner made it across the room.

"Come on son. We just have to wait." Putting his hands on Will's shoulders and eying the guards in a manner that conveyed that everything was under control, he drew Will back into the room. "Let's sit down. The FBI are protecting her. She's got body armor on and Lonny's with her. She'll be alright. She knows how to hit the ground and get out of the way when the shooting starts; doesn't she, Jim?" Skinner called over his shoulder.

Jim who could barely breathe knew a cue when he heard one. "Yes, sir. She does," he said hoping that his voice sounded firmer than he felt. "She's been in her share of firefights," he added for good measure.

No one in Suite 1206 knew exactly what had gone wrong or precisely how it happened. As it would later be pieced together from the debriefing of those involved, it appeared that after talking through the door to McHale, Agent Krowalic had offered Dantana a face to face moment with her if he would put his weapon on the table and come to the door unarmed. Jerry had agreed although he had no intention of putting down his gun. After all, how would he kill McHale if he left his gun on the table. Dantana made a feint towards the table and then dove for the door with the gun in his hands, kicking it open to see the direction in which to aim to get McHale. The sniper's shot missed him, but the agents in the reception area drew their weapons, as Lonny Church pushed MacKenzie to the ground and threw himself on top of her.

Then, they all heard a single high-pitched scream, like a banshee war cry, as Mike Laurance, thinking that Dantana would shoot McKenzie McHale, launched himself at his client. Dantana began firing wildly, turning toward Laurance. Mike Laurance was hit in the chest and the head, the latter shot killing him instantly. In the same moment, Dantana was cut down in a hail of FBI bullets. 

As soon as the guns fell silent, Mac pushed herself out from under Lonny and began to move toward the conference room door. She didn't remember crawling over Dantana to reach Laurance's lifeless body or cradling him in her lap for a moment, rocking him and making an eerie keening sound deep in her throat. She closed Laurance's eyes, another thing she would only begin to remember in nightmares, and crawled to where Nina Howard lay sobbing in the corner of the room.

"Nina," she whispered gently. "It's me. MacKenzie." Nina Howard looked at Mac as though she were someone she was trying to place from a former life. "It's over, Nina," Mac said, putting her arms around the other woman. "It's all over. You're safe. You're safe."

 

Four days later, at the request of Mike Laurance's widow, Will McAvoy delivered the eulogy at his funeral. He had been posthumously awarded the Liberty Award by the New York State Senate, New York's highest civilian honor for heroism, and his funeral had been moved at the last minute to Manhattan's Central Synagogue in order to accommodate the number of dignitaries who were expected to attend. Because he was credited with saving the lives of two journalist, the fourth estate was also expected to turn out in force. Will enlisted Danny's help with the eulogy, and the two worked day and night finding passages in the Torah and Talmud that discussed the ultimate sacrifice of laying down one's life for another, and refining what Will wanted to say. Everyone would agree that it was inspired, as only Will McAvoy could be inspired, but as was frequently the case with Will's editorials, the moment that everyone would remember was when Will finished his prepared text and spoke directly to Michael Laurance's teenaged son and eleven-year-old daughter. 

"Hunter and Sydney, I've told you this privately, but now I want to say it in front of all of these people. Your dad gave his life so that my daughter's mother could live, and in my book, that makes you mine. I pledge to be here if and when you ever need something that I can give. And, I'm not talking about money. Money's easy to give. (Will and Leona had already funded a million dollar trust for their education and support.) I'm talking about me. I want to get to know you both and I want you to come to know me and my family. No one can take your father's place and I know better than to try. But if you will have me, I'll do my best by you, to comfort you and to laugh with you and help you grow into the kind of people who will be a blessing to your father's memory."

That night, Will twice made love to his wife. The first time was frantic, his movements fast and powerful, forceful as if only these things could satisfy his need to prove that she was alive, in his arms, under his body, wrapped around him. The second time was the familiar slow worshiping of her being, her body, the languid demonstration that she was capable of pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings that always brought tears to Mac's eyes. Finally, she had climbed on top of him and he had let her take control. Take him into blessed oblivion. 

In between, she had told him about Mickey Dolan and how he had died for her. She rarely, if ever spoke of her time as an embed, although Will knew every scar by touch. Hearing the pain in her voice, Will felt sick. But he managed to talk, ask a few questions, although he interrupted her narrative of Dolan's death as little as possible. He could tell when she finished the part that she had rehearsed and told before, and began just talking to him about the Mickey she knew. She described how on multiple occasions, Mickey had gently teased her out of it when she "went back." She told him of the horror of a young man's life coming to an end as he stared pleadingly into her eyes as if she had the power to grant him more time. Will had the passing thought that he hoped to be as lucky as Dolan. He wanted his last moments on Earth to be spent looking into MacKenzie McHale's eyes.

Her tears fell as she kept talking. He heard her breath hitch and become more rapid, but the difficulty breathing and pounding of her heart built more slowly than usual. Will was able to get her to use the inhaler and then fight the rest of it by rubbing circles on her back and talking to her softly. Soon, they were ending it in her favorite way by calling upon Will's "magic wand" to banish the last of the tremors and terrors.

This was going to happen more frequently for a while Will knew, thanks to Jerry fucking Dantana. Will wondered for a moment if he should have some compassion for the man. Maybe someday, but not tonight. Not while holding MacKenzie, and remembering the agony of the last few days still reflected in her eyes. He thought about Habib correcting him, or clarifying things for him, when he'd called her PTSD episodes "panic attacks." In a true panic attack, Habib had said, the genesis is most often obscure. The patient is working in the garden and suddenly can't breath and feels faint and terrified without warning or understandable trigger. MacKenzie, on the other hand, is always reacting to both a known and overwhelmingly understandable trigger like coming upon the man she loves unconscious and bleeding internally ("you enjoy twisting the knife with that one," Will had observed, which only earned him that enigmatic smile). She'd had an episode upon learning that a man she knew to be emotionally unstable and fixated on her had come within a few yards of her infant daughter, Habib had continued, and of course, they occur when she's processing any number of other traumas in her dreams. But, Habib had said that Will was correct in that like a panic attack, the physiological reaction was beyond Mac's control, and was in and of itself indistinguishable from that of a true panic attack. Will had asked if she should be taking a low dose of Xanax or something else as a rescue medication, but threw that idea out fast when Habib said that all of those medicines were secreted in breast milk so to do so safely she would have to wean Charlie. They both agreed rapidly that the benefits to Mac's psyche (not to mention the benefits to the baby) of breast feeding far outweighed any advantage from chemically shortening her PTSD episodes.

After the lovemaking, Will spent a long time watching "his girls" sleep. He had the bottle warmer on stand-by and would let Mac slumber on by taking Charlotte when she woke, out to the living room and giving her a bottle while he sang to her. He did this once, maybe twice a week. Will had all of the bags of frozen milk lined up with the oldest in front so that he could just reach into the freezer without turning on a kitchen light. He could now open the bags and get one attached with the ring and nipple in place one handed and keep Charlie clasped to his chest with the other. Only Elliot and Kendra had been suitably impressed when he'd announced this feat in the newsroom. Charlotte seemed to have no trouble going back and forth between bottle and breast. Will had never been completely clear about Mac's concerns in this regard. Before he'd had a chance to research it on the internet, Mac gone back to doing News Night again and Charlie started getting a bottle of expressed breast milk between 7:00 and 9:30 in the "nursery" (Mac's term that had quickly replaced "day care center" in everyone's vocabulary), and both Mac and the nanny had agreed that her fears had been unfounded.

Mac's fears. Mac's nightmares. They had already weathered some bad ones and they would be in for some rocky times ahead, he was sure. How bad would the nightmares become as she processed the carnage she had witnessed? He shuddered to think and tightened his arms around her slightly, kissing the top of her head. She murmured, "Billy," softly in her sleep and wrapped a leg more securely over his. What did it matter, he thought. He had MacKenzie in his arms. She would see Habib and that would help. Will had an inhaler and spacer in his nightstand drawer and the nebulizer in a nearby cupboard because sometimes she . . . or maybe it was he . . . liked the comfort of her breathing in the misty vapor while leaning against his diaphragm, filling and emptying her lungs in tandem with his. He was ready. He could handle anything because he had everything. 

He closed his eyes and filled his senses with her scent. He was Will McAvoy, King of the World.


	60. Epilogue, Part I

"I don't want them to use this one," MacKenzie McHale pointed to the photograph that lay on Leona Lansing's desk. "Not in the article, and certainly not on the cover of the magazine. I know that the layout of the article is set and since they were planning it for the cover, it's not in there. I remember enough about print media to know that changing the cover can be done late. There's still time. You can call Si Newhouse. You can stop this!" She said these words in tones that gave the impression that she was either channelling her father the Ambassador or Queen Victoria in her prime. "In case, you can't tell," Mac concluded a little sheepishly, "I feel very strongly about this."

Leona gave Mac her signature "no shit" expression but said nothing. The photograph in question was a glossy black and white 8x10 image of the McAvoy family. Will, shoeless, in jeans and an open collared white shirt, his sleeves rolled up and looking at least ten years younger than his actual age, was seated on a grassy slope next to MacKenzie. He had two and a half year-old Charlotte on his lap. Both she and her mother were wearing gauzy white dresses and also had bare feet. Charlotte's little brother, five month-old, Walter Duncan, was wearing a white romper and reclining in his mother's arms. Will's head was turned toward his wife and his eyes were closed, as he placed a kiss on her temple. Charlotte, who had been attracted by something in her father's movement, was looking up at him with her little hand touching his cheek as if to comfort him. Mac was looking down at the baby in her lap. Only Duncan was staring straight into the lens. It was Annie Lebowitz at her best.

"It's just too personal," Mac began again. "Lonny was off to the side being interviewed about security, the shooting here, the whole business with Dantana and Laurance, and Will . . . I could feel Will . . . it was a lot for him and he just reacted and Annie got the shot. I know that everybody thinks it's the best image of the shoot . . . " Mac took a breath, aware that her emotions were running away with her. "And maybe it is . . . I just don't want to see it everywhere . . . I turn . . . ." Mac wiped her fingertips across her eyes and seemed as startled as Leona when they came away wet.

"Okay . . . " Leona started to say. "McMac! Are you crying? What's gotten into you?"

Will McAvoy's sperm was the honest answer, MacKenzie reflected, but decided that it wasn't necessary to be quite that honest (yet) with her boss's boss's boss, even if Mrs. Lansing was Grandma Lee to Mac's children. Damned hormones! Get a grip, McHale, she thought. This is a spread in Vanity Fair. It's not life and death.

 

The Vanity Fair article (minus the image of the kiss) was a raving success as measured by magazine sales and the ratings boost that it gave to News Night. It was titled "The Marvelous, Magical McAvoys" after the imaginary television sit-com to which MacKenzie's mother had likened their newsroom interactions. A lot of it was fluff about their lives: Will the child prodigy athlete and prosecutor, Mac's time at Cambridge and as a heroic embed in the Middle East, the children's antics, and Mac's and Will's working relationship, which Sloan was quoted likening to a classic Tracy and Hepburn movie, except instead of Kate tricking Spencer into thinking her ideas were his, it was Mac "owning" Will from 8:00 to 9:00. But a not insignificant number of inches were devoted to serious topics, including Will's campaign for sane gun laws, the philosophy underlying News Night and of course the Greater Fools movement which was still going strong. The Vanity Fair spread was followed a few days later by People Magazine's annual Sexiest Men Alive issue that included Will McAvoy (in a full page article this time) for the third year in a row. Invitations poured into ACN for any or all of the McAvoy's to appear on any number of talk-shows. Will went on Letterman and the Tonight Show, and in a surprising turn, Mac agreed to appear on Craig Ferguson's late night show. 

Will, Mac and the children were going to the UK in early June to spend a few weeks with Mac's parents in Surrey and then go up to London and attend a dinner being given to honor Ted McHale's years of service in the diplomatic corp and participate in some of the festivities surrounding the Queen's official birthday. They had decided that they would wait until they returned from their "holiday" to tell the staff that Mac was pregnant again. This pregnancy had been completely accidental and both Mac and Will guessed that their news was likely to be greeted with stunned silence by their friends and co-workers. Certainly it had taken some getting used to for them.

The third morning he'd caught her throwing up, Will had initiated the discussion. The first two mornings, he'd allowed her to pass it off as something she'd eaten. The bathroom was different since they now lived in the "McHale" brownstone near the park, where Mackie and her brothers had spent part of their childhood. But as he watched a moment from the doorway, Will was transported back to the time right before their wedding day when Nessa had come across Mac like this in their old apartment, and pried out of her the news that she was pregnant with Charlotte. 

He remembered the excitement and joy of those mornings. Although Mac was sick, she was so thrilled to be pregnant that she was almost happy to be sick. It was the same for them when she'd realized she was carrying Duncan. Duncan had definitely been planned, at least by Mac. Will thought about the night they'd started trying to conceive. After they had put Charlie to bed following their nightly game of "MacKenzie from Midtown," during which Mac had called in from the bedroom and requested that Littlebird, (with some assistance from the Nightbird) play a selection of songs with "baby" in the title, Will had asked, "does MacKenzie from Midtown have babies on the brain?" She'd said, "maybe," and kissed him in a way that was sure to start his juices flowing. Then as they'd fallen into bed, she'd asked him if he'd like to try and get her pregnant again, and told him that if he agreed, she wouldn't start the packet of birth control pills she was supposed to begin the next morning. Even though Will had been coming apart over his mother during Mac's pregnancy with Dunk, there was always the awareness that in his present life, a miracle was unfolding. MacKenzie adored him and loved what she was doing with him and for him, certain from the start that she was giving him another son. 

But now everything inside of Will felt like it was at war with everything else. One thing he knew for sure though was that they needed to acknowledge that she was pregnant again in time that if they were going to end it, they could do it in the least traumatic way possible. Should they end it? Duncan was not quite six months old. Jesus! How had he let this happen? The babies would be not quite fifteen months apart. Not unheard of. In fact, he assumed that along the line there had been many sets of McAvoy siblings who were born that close together, maybe even closer. But they didn't have a mother who was the Executive Producer of a nightly newscast. Two, if you counted the European news add-on they had started doing shortly after Reese entered into a contract with BSkyB giving it the rights to re-broadcast "News Night with Will McAvoy" in the UK. She was already tired out being a mother to Charlie and Dunk on top of doing her job. Happy, but tired. He didn't want to see her put anymore strain on her health. Certainly not if she didn't want this. Will marveled at how his definition of "necessary to safeguard the health of the mother" had changed.

Not only were the morning trips to the crapper, as Nessa had called it, evidence that his wife was pregnant again, but the night before they'd had a Nina Howard "flare-up." It was a term that Will had silently borrowed from Mac's pulmonologist. He thought it was a very apt description for the times when emotions about Howard or Brenner came violently bubbling up for either of them. There hadn't been a Brenner "exacerbation" (another Dr. Fischer term) on his part in quite a while. Brenner didn't bother Will any more, other than causing feelings of chagrin when he thought about bringing the man into the newsroom, the man he now knew Mac had rejected for him, to write the New York Magazine article. As for the other stuff, Will finally saw Mac as she had been - not quite thirty and torn between two commitments, one tame, sometimes hurtful, but long-standing, and the other new, overwhelming and consuming in its intensity. One time, to reinforce this insight, Habib had mimicked a phantom conversation in two voices, "did you hear that McHale's gone back to Brenner?" "No, but that's no surprise, man, she was with him for what? . . . three years?" It made it sound like . . . well, what it was, which was pretty damned understandable. Oh, you could pick apart what Mac did and find fault. She did deceive him, but . . . it no longer seemed to matter. 

Funny, deceiving Mac, well not for long, anyway, was the one and only sin he did not commit with Nina. But the rest . . . Shit! He was older and wiser and meaner than she had been when she'd taken up with Brenner again. He'd long ago admitted to himself that he had wanted Mac to know about Nina. In fact, Mac's knowing was practically the whole perverted point of his being with Nina. Showing Mac that she had no power over him, and proving to himself that his life wasn't going to revolve around MacKenzie McHale any longer. "Not going to have my fucking happiness depend on Mac's calling the Nightbird every evening," Habib had summarized his state of mind. "The problem was," Habib followed up softly, "you couldn't accept then that her . . . happiness . . . depended on it, or know how much stopping it cut her off from the one source of comfort in her life." But, he did know. He had heard the pain and terror in her voice when she would call even though she'd denied that anything was wrong other than a touch of insomnia. It had scared the shit out of him. No, what it made him want to do had scared him. And Will, who did not know then that fear and vulnerability could be fought with anything but aggression, had struck back using Nina as a weapon. 

Somehow, the night before, it had come up that Nina had told him about interviewing Brenner while he was writing "the article" and figuring out that it was Will's baby's body that Robert Hummel had seen at the Kabul Intercontinental. Somehow the revelation that Nina knew that Mac had been pregnant by Will before she'd agreed to the relationship with him irrationally upset MacKenzie, and sent her into a downward spiral that ended with her tearful, hurt and angry with him for "cheating on" her with Nina. This wasn't normal for MacKenzie. Or rather it was only normal under certain circumstances. Will McAvoy had been around this block a time or two. So on a Saturday morning in April 2016, Will sat beside Mac on the bathroom floor, after making sure that Dunk was safe in his crib and Charlie was eating dry Cheerios and absorbed in a "My Little Pony" video on her iPad. (It was supposed to still be her mother's iPad but that was only because Mac refused to accept that a two year-old could have her own iPad.)

"Can we talk?" he asked.

She nodded a yes, then quickly shook her head, no, as another wave of nausea took her and she retched the last dregs of her stomach contents into the toilet until she was dry heaving. Will had deftly taken her hair out of her way, braided it and finding a hair tie within reach on the counter, secured the braid. Now, kneeling slightly behind her, he just held her body against him. It was not, he mused, so very different from the way he held her when she was in labor. She looked so young and vulnerable to him at that moment. He silently cursed himself, his libido and his sperm count. 

"Kenz, you don't have to do this," he whispered.

She pulled away and gave him a piercing look. "You think I'm pregnant."

"Don't you think?" he asked suddenly alarmed that maybe this was something really serious, some illness. That had never occurred to him. Mac had her heart murmur and the breathing issues had lingered so long after her lung had healed that the doctor decided about a year ago that it had to be stress induced asthma, but other than that, spleen or no, she was, as she liked to say, healthy as a "west county horse."

She saw the concern that now clouded those beautiful blue eyes, and smiled resignedly. "God, Billy!" She collapsed against him. "I guess I need to buy a test. How did we let this happen?" She knew of course. She'd tried the same IUD after Duncan that she'd used when she returned to birth control following Charlotte's birth. This time, however, it had given her four unpredictable and unbelievably heavy "periods" in the first two months. After ruining half of their bed sheets and more than a few of her favorite clothes, scaring Will to death the two times it started during the night, and having her blood work come back confirming that her extreme exhaustion was most likely the result of the anemia she'd developed, Will put his foot down and Denise took it out. Mac then went on a low dose contraceptive pill that was cleared for nursing mothers, which Denise had warned them had a significantly higher "failure" rate than the ones with greater hormone content. She hadn't had a period on the pill, but since she was still nursing Duncan multiple times a day, Mac had not really given it a lot of thought. 

So, here they were, McAvoy and McHale, defying the odds again.

"I meant it," Will began in a quiet calm tone, absently playing with her braided hair. They were still on the bathroom floor, sitting side by side with their backs against the tiled wall. "Even if you are pregnant . . . we don't have to . . . have another baby."

"Billy! What are you saying? That you don't want this baby? You, of all people, are advocating an abortion? As a method of family planning?" Her face was a mask of shock and horror. "I can't . . . you know . . . I just can't . . . ." 

When it was clear that she'd finished speaking, he cupped her face in his hands and brought her lips to his. He kissed her and then asked softly, "Why not? Because of William?" 

"Yes. No. No," she repeated more forcefully. "Well, not completely. I've thought about it these last few days. Trust me, I've considered it a lot. Thought about it while I watched Dunk nurse and sleep and while I watched Charlie put together her outfit of the day." They both laughed at the thought of some of the distinctively "Charlie" combinations that their strong willed two year-old insisted on wearing to the studio. "If there's another bit of you and me starting out again, I've just got to know who it is. Who it's going to be. Maybe some of that's cause I never had the chance with William . . . I don't know . . . ." MacKenzie shrugged. "It's just the way it is." Then she looked at him closely. "Do you really not want another child?"

"Me? Hell, I get the easy part. I'd take a whole baseball team." He kissed her forehead. "How could I not want a child of yours?" he asked in a murmur as his lips made their way to hers again. "But, Kenz," he pulled away so that she could watch his face as he spoke, "if there is any possibility that this could be dangerous or harmful in any way . . . then we get an abortion. If either Danny or Denise have any concerns . . . even that there could be some long term consequences . . . "

"Other than to my figure," she interrupted, putting a hand on the side of his face and smiling, hoping to soften the intense, grim expression she saw there. "You know my body's going to be seriously fucked after this."

"Well," he said, a smile breaking out at the corners of his own mouth, "as long as there's breath left in mine, I would say that's always going to be true."

"Very amusing. But seriously, Billy, Will McAvoy, still one of the sexiest men alive, could end up with a dumpy middle-aged wife, who wears flat shoes and can't get into a pencil skirt to save her life." 

He was just about to say that he'd take his chances when Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy, who had recently taken to saying all of her names at the drop of a hat, appeared in the doorway, probed them with those hazel eyes and asked her parents why they were sitting on the bathroom floor.

 

One evening around 6:15, two weeks before the McAvoy's were scheduled to begin their UK holiday, Phil Grafton escorted into the newsroom, a good-looking, young, blond, hazel-eyed man in an expensive double-breasted suit and conservative striped tie, who was carrying a soft leather document sleeve with the Royal Coat of Arms of the United Kingdom embossed upon it. "Ms. McHale," Phil called over to Mac who was standing over Jenna's desk giving her suggestions on some copy she was preparing for Will's broadcast that night. 

"Yes?" Mac looked up quizzically, wondering why Phil hadn't used her first name as he usually did. "Why so formal?" Phil cleared his throat and gestured slightly in the direction of the young man beside him. "May I help you?" Mac asked turning her attention to the stranger and walking toward him.

"Yes, ma'am. I am Colin Caldwell from the British Consulate. I have a letter from the Cabinet Office for Mr. McAvoy." As he was speaking, Mac, who was trying to stifle her annoyance at being called "ma'am" (surely she wasn't that much older than he) and figure out why the Cabinet Office would be writing to her husband, felt her daughter arrive at her side and curl an arm around her right leg. 

Before Mac could speak, she heard Charlotte say brightly, "you're from the UK," although it sounded more like "yuki," which was apparently what Caldwell heard as well.

"The yuki?" he repeated.

"Yes. You talk like Mummy and Gran and Grandad and Uncle Jules and Aunt Ness and Tessa and Teddy and Uncle Tommy and my friend, George, and his mummy and his daddy and his grandma and granddad." As she had been saying the names, she started holding up fingers and counting them off, a gesture that made her look like a miniature of her mother.

"Ah," Colin Caldwell said crouching down to her eye level, "yes, the UK! Yes, I come from the same place your mum does. You must be Charlotte . . . "

"Charlotte Elizabeth Morgan McAvoy," she corrected him, but so politely it couldn't be taken for rude.

He looked up at Mac. "She's stunning, I must say . . . the Morgan eyes combined with Will McAvoy's coloring."

It was Mac's turn to be stunned. The Morgan eyes? How . . . ? "Excuse me, what did you say your name is?"

He straightened up and smiled. "Colin Caldwell."

She stopped dead for a second and studied his face, then said, "please don't make me feel old by telling me you're Pinky Caldwell's son." Sloan who was standing across the room rolled her eyes. Where did these people get their nicknames? Will was probably lucky that he was just "Billy" and not "Binky" or something equally ridiculous. 

Colin laughed. "Nephew. Pinky's children are still little, like yours."

"Yes, well, I'm having mine rather late in the scheme of things," Mac said without thinking and then bit her lower lip, seeing from Sloan's expression that her friend had picked up on the present tense. "So, you're father is . . . . ?" she asked, struggling to come up with the names of Pinky's older brothers, of which there were two, if her recollection was correct.

"Philip, the oldest son."

"We're going to the UK soon," Charlotte piped up.

"So, I hear," Caldwell replied.

"And what brings you to ACN, Mr. Caldwell?" Mac asked.

"Please call me Colin, ma'am. We are cousins after all."

"Are you my cousin too?" Charlie asked, still not sure how the cousin thing worked.

"Yes, I am. Your Gran and mine are first cousins."

"That means they had the same grandparents just like you do with Tess and Teddy," Mac clarified when Charlie looked up at her confused by the term, first cousins. Then Mac said to Caldwell, "I'll call you Colin, if you promise to never address me as ma'am again as long as you live. I'm Mac or MacKenzie."

"Not Mackie any more?" Caldwell had relaxed enough to tease her a little.

"Not, generally. So, is this a social call or are you here to leak state secrets to the American media?"

"More the former than the latter, I'm afraid. We were posting the Birthday Honours letters going out to people over here, and I decided to pull Mr. McAvoy's and deliver it myself."

"It's not Daddy's birthday . . . . "

"Shush," Mac said to her daughter, as she tried to let the news sink in. "Will's on the Honours List?"

"Quite."

"Where?"

"Do you want me to tell you? Shouldn't you let him open it?"

"Yes, of course," Mac replied. "Charlie, sweetheart, go and get Daddy, please."

While they waited for her to return with Will, Mac lowered her voice and asked, "do you know who nominated him?" 

Caldwell whispered back, "I shouldn't say, so keep this under your hat. A number of people, some well-known, plus lots of his fans. Jeremy Darroch, from Sky, and even a few BBC News executives proving that they're jolly good sports and don't hold a grudge. And the man your daughter so charmingly calls, George's daddy, lobbied his grandmother rather shamelessly, I hear."

Will McAvoy walked across the bullpen with his daughter in his arms as the staff fell quiet. Stopping next to his wife, he said, looking at Caldwell, "Charlie says I'm to come and meet her cousin."

"Yes, sir." Colin extended his hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. McAvoy. Colin Caldwell, British Consulate. My grandmother is a Morgan."

"The pleasure's mine," Will said graciously, "and please call me, Will. So, what can we do for you? Do you want to stay and watch us do the show?"

"Could I? Really?" Caldwell's eyes grew large with excitement. "That would be brilliant!" 

"Colin," Mac said gesturing with her eyes to the document case in his hand.

"Oh, yes. Sir . . . Will, I have a letter for you from Her Majesty's Government," Caldwell said opening his case, removing the letter and handing it to Will.

Will looked surprised. "Really?" he asked as he took the cream colored envelope and slid his index finger under the flap. Will read the letter and then re-read it twice while his wife beamed at him and the entire Newsroom staff held it's collective breath. Then, he looked up and around at all of the expectant, supportive, encouraging faces of the team that Mac had built around him.

"It seems I'm to be knighted," said the boy from the little town outside of a little town outside of Lincoln, Nebraska.


	61. Epilogue, Part II

Of course, because he was a foreign national, Will McAvoy would become only an honorary Knight Commander of the British Empire. He would not be entitled to call himself, "Sir William," although he would be able to put the initials, "KBE" after his name. Neal had pointed out that he would then be, "William D. McAvoy, KBE, JD, PhD." He would not kneel before the Queen, or the Prince of Wales or the Duke of Cambridge, or have the blade of a sword touched to his shoulder. No one would say, "arise, Sir William." "They don't actually say that to anyone," Mac had pointed out. 

There would be a ceremony at which he would receive the medal of his order from the Queen or her designee in a case, rather than have it draped around his neck. He was allowed to have three guests at the ceremony, and when Charlotte learned that she was not to be one of them and that the ceremony would not involve kneeling, swords or arising, she was inconsolable. Where was this coming from? Mac couldn't imagine where their daughter, who was not yet three, had gotten such strong ideas about what was supposed to happen when someone was knighted? Knighted, of all things? Mac didn't think that the concept had ever been mentioned around the child before. What movie had Charlie seen where someone was knighted, Mac had wondered aloud after they had finally gotten their daughter to stop crying and go to sleep. In the middle of the next night, an excited Will had awakened her to say that the answer to her question . . . Disney's "The Prince and the Pauper" . . . had just come to him in a dream!

Now Charlotte McAvoy slept serenely in the booster seat that was strapped onto the regular seat in the bulkhead row of the first class section of a Virgin Airways jet that was winging its way across the Atlantic Ocean to Heathrow Airport. Her mother sat beside her pretending to read and trying not to be airsick. On the other side of the aisle, Will slept almost fully reclined with a softly snoring Duncan sprawled across his chest and tethered to him in case of unexpected turbulence. 

It always surprised MacKenzie that people had been shocked that Will had wanted children or that he was such an attentive father. Not everyone, of course. Not those closest to him, his sisters or Big Charlie. Others too, Rebecca Halliday, for example, had called it right straight from the beginning, but lots of people apparently found it unexpected and worthy of comment in the gossip media. Mac had observed this to Sloan a few days before their departure, when she'd also confided to her closest female friend that she was pregnant again, saying that it seemed to her that "Billy is a natural born daddy."

"Kenzie, first of all," Sloan had said, "nobody's surprised that Billy's Mr. Mom, but none of the people who are talking to Page Six have ever met Billy. Also, more than half of them are women who were pretty much served with a printed disclaimer by Will McAvoy that he wasn't husband or father material on their first date with the guy." Mac didn't say anything, so Sloan went on. "And most of them didn't get a second date. Charlie says that Will didn't really go out all that much and was mostly celibate while you were in the Middle East." 

Mac gave Sloan a look that conveyed the sentiment, "not a chance."

"That's what Charlie says. And from what I saw too, the whole 'Hef' phase started after you came back. He never took a woman on vacation with him before he thought he saw you at Northwestern. Why is that so surprising? You remember how screwed up he was. Besides, weren't you mostly celibate while you were away from him?"

"Yes, of course. And there was nothing 'mostly' about it until . . . " Mac drifted off, slightly embarrassed. Sloan's expression of commiseration saved her from having to say the name, Wade. This made Mac laugh. "God, Sloan, what a debacle! The only thing I seemed to do right in that mess was fake orgasms. Since I discovered that the length of our sexual contact was directly proportional to how fast I achieved satisfaction, the longer I tried to maintain a relationship with Wade, the more time I spent wondering how quickly after he began," Mac made a "you know" sort of gesture with her hand, "I could pretend to come before he would start to get suspicious." She laughed. "Luckily," she chortled again, "his opinion of his prowess as a lover apparently knew no bounds."

"So, how fast can Billy get you off?"

"Not that fast," Mac giggled. Then her expression turned serious. "I knew when I was away from Will that I didn't want anyone else. Celibacy wasn't a problem. But, he's a man and . . . ." she continued.

"God, Kenzie! I'll just pretend that I never heard anything that sexist escape your lips . . . ."

"I wasn't being sexist!"

"What, then? Will's so good at sex, he must have stayed in practice?" Sloan teased, watching to see if she could make her friend blush. "It seems that it's one of those things that's like riding a bicycle, how to have sex just comes right back to you," Sloan said gesturing to somewhere in the vicinity of Mac's stomach. "Especially when you are with someone you adore." Sloan rolled her eyes. "My God, it's been almost four years and you two still can't keep your hands off each other in a run down meeting. You guys use pregnancy as a form of birth control. You know, like you can only have one child at a time while you're pregnant."

"Sloan," Mac had laughed heartily, "only you could say something like that and have it sound like it makes sense, or should make sense . . . ." 

Looking across the aisle, she reached over and ran her hand along Will's arm. She knew how to caress him just lightly enough not to wake him. She had learned it over the last few years when she'd awaken from a dream, frightened and distressed, but knowing that her anxiety wasn't so bad that it required Will's help. All she needed she'd found was the comfort of touching his body, so she'd learned to do so without waking him. Sometimes her dependence on Will frightened her. Other times she simply accepted that for a significant part of her adulthood, practically from the day they first met, she had built her life one way or another around Will McAvoy, and things showed no sign of changing any time soon. 

That life had held so many highs, News Night, the Greater Fools movement, and now, the Greater Fools Symposium and Foundation, marriage, Charlotte and Duncan, to name a few. And so many terrible lows. Sometimes she thought that Will's having taken up with Nina was the worst of the lows. They had been through two years of her absorbing his anger and derision, and she'd just begun to think that they were gaining some sort of solid footing. She had even gotten to where she was feeling that maybe she could tell the Nightbird the true reason for her calls. Then . . . Nina. Nina and the sudden need to prove that she didn't matter to him, her opinions didn't concern him. He was his own man . . . or rather, he was Nina's man. If he had walked into her office and slapped her full force across the face, it couldn't have hurt worse or been more of a shock to her system. But, no, she reflected as the plane's engines drowned on, his affair . . . fling . . . whatever with Nina wasn't the worst, only the most recent, at least if she didn't count that ridiculous business on Election Night about returning the ring. The worst was and always would be the period from the moment Will had kicked off her grasping hands and left her on the floor of his apartment to the midnight hour that she had allowed Danny to gather her into his arms and take her out of the Kabul Intercontinental . . . yes, nothing could compare to those months during which it seemed that everyone she loved and everything she'd lived for had been stripped from her. What am I doing, she wondered. Why am I thinking about painful memories now? Mac forcefully brought herself back to the present as Will's and Duncan's sleeping forms came into focus once again.

As Mac glanced up from her husband and son, she saw that one of the stewardesses, seated in a jump seat facing the cabin, had been watching her. The stewardess looked quickly away, clearly embarrassed, which neutralized Mac's slight annoyance at being scrutinized in a private moment. When the woman chanced a glance again in Mac's direction, MacKenzie smiled at her warmly. The stewardess relaxed, returned the smile and held up the magazine that she had been reading and Mac saw her own laughing face, along with those of the rest of her family, looking out from the cover of Vanity Fair. In the photo that the editor had chosen to replace "the kiss," Dunk was the star of the show. He was being held by Will, "standing" on his father's lap, shrieking his pleasure at his accomplishment, while his parents and sister laughed with him. 

"He's adorable," the stewardess ventured since MacKenzie McHale looked like she might be receptive to conversation while the rest of her family slept.

"Which one?" Mac joked, surprising herself.

The other woman laughed heartily. "I was thinking of your son," she said, "but his daddy's pretty adorable himself. You're very lucky."

"I am. I definitely am." Yes, Mac thought, hearing Nina's voice in her head, I caught the brass ring.

She had a brief conversation with the stewardess, mostly about the summer's upcoming Greater Fools Symposium to which a friend of the stewardess' nephew from the University of Aberdeen had been fortunate enough to be accepted. Now in its third year, it was going international and being held in three locations, at Brown University, at Cambridge and at the University of Jordan in Amman. It had begun at Northwestern, as a one-off conference for delegates selected by Greater Fools chapters the summer after Charlie was born. Will had gotten Bill Clinton, John McCain, Tom Brokaw and a few other friends to join him in conducting workshops with the students on issues of national importance. Within a year, it had been transformed through Will's creation and funding (with more than a little help from Leona) of the Greater Fools Foundation. It was now a permanent month long, all expenses paid, educational opportunity for groups of fifty students, half chosen on merit by the Foundation Board of Trustees, and the other half selected through a lottery of the remaining applicants. It had a rotating faculty drawn from all walks of life and political persuasions. This year, it would triple in size, accommodating fifty students at each location with seminars led by such luminaries as Robert Reich, Condoleezza Rice, Jimmy Carter, Rep. Charlie Dent, Colin Powell, Dan Rather, John Major, King Abdullah of Jordan, Tony Blair, Madeline Albright, General Raymond Odierno, Mahmoud Abbas, and Shimon Peres. It was, Mac suspected, the achievement that had earned her husband his knighthood.

When the conversation ended, Mac went back to her thoughts. Three children. Mac took a deep breath. Three. We can do three. Why not? She smiled to herself. They'd been doing okay so far, the mother with PTSD and the father who'd been beaten, brutalized and betrayed throughout his childhood by the grandparents the children would never know. Will had worked through a lot before Dunk was born. Habib had helped Mac greatly when Will started having nightmares in which he'd re-live the violence of his father's fists and belt. These, coupled with watching Charlotte turn two, the age he'd been when the beatings had started, finally led him to experience the agony of realizing that his mother's failure to intervene or protect him had been the greatest betrayal of all. But they had gotten through it, and Will become an even more loving father and husband than he had been before, although Mac had doubted this was possible. Yes, Mac thought again. The five McAvoys would be just fine.

Dan Shivitz, Denise Barrington and Jake Habib had all supported MacKenzie in her opposition to having an abortion, assuring Will that while two pregnancies in such close proximity was not ideal at any age, Mac's health should not be compromised. Danny'd also extracted a promise from her that she'd follow his and Denise's instructions religiously and without question. Then, he'd participated, along with Rivka, Big Charlie and Will, in something of an "intervention" that had forced MacKenzie to acknowledge her own limitations, and resulted in her agreement that if she were going to keep working through this pregnancy, which she absolutely was, there would have to be some modifications to her routine, starting with her sleeping later in the mornings and hiring someone to come in and help get Little Charlie and Dunk ready for the day. She had also reluctantly agreed to have a full-time nanny at home after the baby was born. None of them seemed to understand her resistance to having live-in help, but then no one else had come from a culture where children were raised by hired help and saw their parents for 20 minutes a day at teatime. When she tried to explain this to Sloan, her friend had simply said, "Kenzie, you could have a house full of servants and that would never be you. And I'll bet it wasn't your mother, either." Mac had to agree. It wasn't ever going to be her and Lady Margaret had definitely raised her own children.

Billy and his boy, Mac thought lovingly, when Dunk started to make a little mewling sound before settling back into sleep and Will's hand had come up reflexively to pat his back. It was beginning to sink in for her husband that having a son was going to be different from raising his daughter. Will had said, "I won't make him play baseball," and "I won't force him to pitch," so many times that Mac had started to think that maybe exactly the opposite was going to be true. But, she reminded herself, they still had years before she had to worry about that. (As it would turn out, Dunk wasn't much into playing sports, preferring to connect with his father in more scholarly pursuits. However, Danny McAvoy, the baby traveling across the Atlantic in his mother's womb, would pitch two seasons with Baltimore and three as a closer for the San Francisco Giants before his elbow gave out and he went back to college. After graduation, he would sign on first with ESPN and later with ACN as a sportscaster. Other than once when Mac was having minor surgery, Reese and the AWM jet crew made sure that Danny's father never missed a game when he was pitching.)

Mac wrapped herself in a blanket and then tucked one securely around Charlie. She touched Dunk's leg to see if he was getting cold, but he was a little furnace, just like his daddy. Well, Will was a big furnace, actually, but the point was the same, neither of them ever seemed to get cold. She watched her family sleeping peacefully for a minute, and realized to her relief that she no longer felt sick. Closing her eyes, Mac thought that maybe she too would be able to sleep. No such luck. Less than a quarter hour later, both children were awake.

 

Walter Duncan McAvoy sat in a chair that was clipped onto the large kitchen table in Ailesbury Hall and again refused the rice cereal that his grandmother tried to put into his mouth. His little face screwed up into a pout as he turned away yet again from the spoon. His sister and grandfather had already had their breakfast and had departed for the barn where Charlotte would be given her first riding lesson on the elderly Connemara pony who had belonged to her Uncle Tommy and had provided the same service for her cousins.

"He wants his mum," Emma, the McHale family's longtime cook, observed, giving the fussy baby a sympathetic smile.

"Yes. Well, I want his mum to get some more sleep." Lady Margaret said. "Did you see how exhausted Mackie looked when they arrived last night?" The question was directed at Emma, but Mac's mother's disapproving look was aimed squarely at Duncan's father, who was at that moment, standing by the vegetable sink in khaki pants and a white t-shirt about to take a sip from the mug of coffee that Em had just handed to him. When Dunk rejected the cereal again and began to cry lustily, Will put down his coffee cup, walked over, unbuckled his son from the chair and cradled him in his arms. 

"Mac gave you the cooler of milk; right?" he asked Em over the baby's wails. When she nodded, he said, "I think he might do better with a bottle." Em found the bag with the oldest date and quickly got it into the bottle which she set in a pot of hot water to thaw and warm while Will jostled and spoke softly to his son. Margaret, who had a very soft spot for Will, especially when he was in Daddy Mode, suppressed the smile that wanted to appear as she watched them. She wasn't ready to forgive him just yet.

Will, MacKenzie and the children had arrived late the night before after hiring a car and driving down from Heathrow. Ted and Margaret, along with Nanny and Em, had waited up to greet them. Will walked into the house first, carrying a sleeping Charlotte, who looked like a small, blonde, exotic bird with her long legs dangling down.

"There's my little girl," Ted had boomed, until shushed by his wife. "Look at the legs on that child. There's nothing I like better than a pair of long Morgan legs." He smiled lasciviously at his wife and Will felt sure that at least one pair of Morgan legs would get caressed that night. "How are you, Will, my boy?"

"Fine, sir. We're all a bit done in from the flight, but happy to be here."

"Mackie, darling," Margaret exclaimed as her daughter walked in carrying Duncan and a cooler bag which she asked Em to please put into the freezer straight away. Margaret tried to keep the note of concern out of her voice as she looked at Mac's pale face and glassy eyes. "Didn't get much sleep on the plane, sweetheart? But then, you've never been one to sleep well on airplanes." 

"Hello, Mummy. Daddy." Mac kissed both of her parents.

"Here," Margaret said, "give me Dunk, and get yourself sorted." As she took Duncan from Mac, Margaret brushed against her daughter's abdomen. Something seemed . . . She reached down and ran a hand slowly and carefully over her daughter's body. "Mackie!" she exclaimed, obviously shocked, but in a somewhat muted voice.

It was not that Mac was on a short fuse, Will observed as he watched his wife react to her mother, she appeared to have no fuse at all. "Don't start, Mummy! Please, I can't take it! I've just flown transatlantic with a toddler and a baby, and I'm knackered and don't need you going on about things that you can't possibly change!" Her voice escalated with each sentence until she was practically whining.

Well, that cat's out of the bag quickly, Will thought as Margaret's piercing hazel eyes turned on him. "Lovely to see you," he said, smiling gamely and kissing her cheek. 

"Been busy, Billy?" she'd whispered in his ear as they embraced.

Now she watched him jollying Dunk. "Honestly, Will!" she finally exploded. "What were you thinking? Three children under the age of four. Two of them not yet two!"

He sighed, and holding his son in one arm, ran his free hand through his hair. "Obviously, it wasn't planned. Or thought about. It . . . We . . . Okay . . . Look, Mac and I just fucked . . . ." He tried not to use newsroom language around his in-laws and so he swallowed the last of the explanation that he and his wife had "fucked up."

"Yes. Well, I think that both Em and I had worked that part out on our own from the observable evidence, but thank you for sharing." Will heard Emma chortling as she took the bottle out of the pan, tested the temperature, dried it off and handed it to him. 

Dunk wanted no part of the bottle either. "Come on, bro," Will implored as the baby whipped his head back and forth and continued to cry. "I know you want Mummy. I really do. But Mummy needs to sleep. Just try this. Mummy left you a surprise inside. Give it a try." Will pressed on the nipple and dribbled a little of the milk on Dunk's lips. "Recognize that taste? Sure you do." Dunk did, but he clearly didn't I want it coming from the bottle. Charlie had been much easier to bottle feed, Will remembered. Duncan was a real breast man. "I understand completely," Will told his son. "I feel your pain. You know me, I'll take Mummy any day over a blob of silicone . . . ." At that remark, Em, who was walking beside Will, snapped him with her tea towel on the thigh like an athletic coach. Will pretended not to notice. "But it's just not in the cards. It's this or the rice cereal or nothing." As if comprehending that further crying wasn't going to produce the desired result, Dunk reluctantly began to suck on the bottle. 

"Do you want him?" Will asked Margaret.

"I certainly do," she replied, taking the baby and the bottle from him, and kissing Dunk on the forehead. "Get your coffee and we'll go into the morning room."

It was Will's favorite room in the house. Bright and sunny, and filled with overstuffed chairs and sofas done in cream and yellow fabrics and decorated with needlepoint pillows from all over the world that Margaret had done. Now it also held a small table and chairs for the older grandchildren and Dunk's portable play pen. On the wall in a white frame was the newest addition to the room's decor, a large print of Annie Leibowitz's image of "the kiss," that had been an anniversary gift to Mac's parents from Leona. When they were seated, Margaret returned to the subject of Mac's pregnancy as Will was certain she would. 

"I'm just concerned," she said. "Two pregnancies this close together are bound to put a strain on her health . . . her heart . . . her breathing."

"I know," Will replied. "This wasn't . . . . We didn't want this to happen. She had an IUD and that made her bleed and then she went on a low dose pill and it wasn't enough." Will lowered his voice, "Look, Margaret, I spent several weeks advocating an abortion. That's how concerned I've been." 

"Mackie won't hear of it?"

"No. She says that she needs to know who this person is."

"That sounds like my daughter. She's always wanted to finish what she starts. And you do make lovely children together." Margaret sighed, looking down at Dunk who was now happily sucking down his mother's milk. "I don't suppose there's been any consideration given to her stepping down as EP of News Night." Will looked stricken as if she had just suggested that they give up Charlie or Dunk for adoption. "No," Margaret chuckled, "I suppose not. Might as well ask you two to give up sex. Actually, I've been in the control room enough to know that News Night is lovemaking for you and my daughter."

"What do you mean?" Will tried to look genuinely puzzled, although he had a very good idea of exactly what she meant.

"Why do you think that you are on People Magazine's list of the sexiest men alive?" Lady Ailesbury gestured toward the issue that lay on the coffee table along with a copy of Vanity Fair.

"I don't know. I suppose to appease the AARP?" he ventured. Will had been given some sort of award by the AARP, she knew. It was a small golden BarcaLounger. He and Mac had thought it very funny. 

Margaret chuckled appreciatively. "Personally, I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that when you look into the camera, you are reading the news to your lover. Every woman on both sides of the pond gets an hour a day to pretend that you are looking at her that way. Ask yourself how many other anchors have their EP's purring in their ears all through their broadcasts."

"My EP doesn't purr."

"Really? 'Come on and do it for me, Billy.'" Margaret purred in a throaty, pitch perfect imitation of her daughter's voice. "It's a wonder that you're not on the air with an erection half the time."

How do you know I'm not, Will thought but didn't say. 

"I know she won't give up the show, and I know she loves having your children. I'm just suggesting that since the two of you are obviously extremely fertile, one or both of you needs to get nipped or tucked or tied so that you can be sure that you stop at three."

Will was just opening his mouth to agree with her and also tell her that they were about to hire a nanny to give Mac some additional help when a young woman with a frightened expression rushed into the room.

"Lady Ailesbury. Ma'am. 'Scuse me. Mrs. 'acher sent me to get you, ma'am. She says it's Lady MacKenzie. She's crying like she's in pain somethin' awful . . . ."

Will was on his feet and moving toward the kitchen and the back stairs before the young woman could take a breath.

"Thank you, Lucy." Lady Ailesbury said with a calm born of breeding and duty, while standing and moving Dunk to her shoulder. "We'll take care of her. I'm sure everything will be fine." Then, trembling at the thought of what they might find, she followed her son-in-law out of the room.

When she arrived upstairs, she stopped in the doorway of the room Will, Mac and Dunk were using during their stay, as Will pulled the coverlet off his wife and moved her gently on the bed. Mac was curled onto her side, her arms pressed to her abdomen, eyes closed, writhing, crying and grunting. While she clearly seemed to be experiencing extreme physical pain, there was no sign of fluid or blood or anything that would indicate that the pregnancy was at risk.

"Okay. Okay." Margaret heard Will breathing heavily to himself. "Everything's okay." He climbed onto the bed beside MacKenzie, took her into his arms and sat her up against him. He rubbed her back and stroked her face and hair and began talking to her, telling her to wake up, that he was with her, that everything would be alright and it was all just a dream. MacKenzie seemed to calm a little at his touch, and Margaret could begin to make out a few words in her daughter's voice. She was asking Billy to forgive her, saying over and over that "he's not going to live" and "he's too little to live." This, at least the asking for Billy's forgiveness, was so reminiscent of Landstuhl it made Margaret think that Mac was dreaming about some violence that she had experienced during her time embedded in Iraq or covering the unrest in Pakistan. But then, she heard Will speaking again, kissing and soothing his wife and responding to her continued thrashing and cries, and a different realization began to form in Margaret's mind, one that took her back to a moment in Will's apartment the Christmas of the wedding.

"It's not your fault, Kenz. Please, sweetheart . . . don't do this to yourself . . . . You did nothing . . . wrong. He was just . . . not to be. It wasn't your fault. And we have so much, Kenz. We have . . . Charlotte and Dunk and another baby coming. Wake up, darling. Please, please wake up. Mackie . . . you're safe. Come back to me. We are all here with you, Dunk and Charlie. I know he didn't live . . . but it's okay . . . well, not okay. But we're fine. We have so much, Kenz. Please stop blaming yourself. Christ." Will scrubbed his hand over his face in despair.

Margaret looked at the baby in her arms and marveled at the fact that he was calmly gulping the remains of his bottle and staring at his parents, seemingly as mesmerized as she by the drama unfolding before them. Finally, Mac appeared to come out of the dream sufficiently to realize that Will was with her. 

"Billy . . . " Mac whispered, wheezing softly, her eyes still closed.

"Yes. Yes, Kenz. I'm right here. Always here."

"Where? Oh." She opened her eyes. "Oh," she said again, blinking at the daylight and the familiar room, before her eyes returned to Will's face. "Billy! Oh, God! I dreamt . . . . Billy, help me . . . ."

"Do you need your medicine?" he asked, smoothing the tangled hair out of her face, and trying to remember where they had packed the spacer. 

"No. Billy, just you . . . I only need you." Although she said it a little breathlessly, he knew it was true. Amazingly, her asthma was better when she was pregnant. He needed to remember to tell that to her mother. One less thing to worry about. Mac moved in Will's arms and brought her lips up to meet his.

Neither of them noticed Margaret in the doorway. She stood transfixed for a moment, thinking that their movement, their passion was as beautiful as a ballet. It was only when Will pulled away the cloth of MacKenzie's sleep shirt to expose and caress her breast that Margaret came to her senses and recognized that these were not dancers or actors in a cinema she was watching, but her daughter and son-in-law beginning to make love. She quickly closed the door as quietly as she could and carried Dunk back down to the morning room.

 

By the time Will came down again half an hour later, Margaret'd had plenty of time to think. Shortly after their return downstairs, Dunk had filled his nappy to leaking and she'd been confronted by the fact that all of the nappies and every stitch of clothing that Mackie and Will had brought with them was in the room with his parents. So, she and Em had used an Irish linen table napkin and pins and she had located a box of baby clothes in the attic that she had saved for sentimental reasons from her own children, and put him in the make-shift nappy and a cream-colored sleeper that his mother had once worn. He had drifted off for a mid-morning slumber almost immediately. 

"She's back asleep," Will said as he entered the morning room.

Margaret lowered her tea cup from her lips. "Sit down," she commanded more sharply than she'd intended. Will's eyes widened with surprise. "Please," she said, gesturing to the space beside her on the sofa. Will sat. She just studied him for a moment before speaking.

"When did MacKenzie lose a child?"

"What?" Oh, God, Will thought, how do I get out of this? MacKenzie still hadn't been able to tell her parents about William. Not that he and Mac thought or talked about the need to do so much anymore. Life had just drifted on as life does.

"I believe you heard me." Mac's mother said evenly. "When did Mackie have a miscarriage?"

"I can't . . . It's not my place to talk about this. You will have to ask her," Will replied miserably after a long pause.

Suddenly, Margaret looked at him with something akin to horror in her eyes. "It wasn't your child," she breathed softly somewhere between a statement and a question. "It was . . . back when she was with . . ."

"No! No! He . . . it was my baby." Will lowered his head into his hands. "Margaret, please . . . ."

"Then, it is your place to tell me. When did you lose a child, Will?" He'd always known where Mac got her relentlessness, he'd just never before been subjected to it from his mother-in-law. 

"She doesn't . . . want . . . "

"Well, that's bloody obvious; isn't it? And, in case you haven't figured it out, I don't give a toss what she wants me not to know." She gave him that piecing Morgan stare that he recognized from his wife and daughter. Then, her expression seemed to dissolve into anguish. "If that had been Charlotte upstairs . . . wouldn't you need to know? Would it matter that she's an adult?"

No, Will thought. No, it would not.

"Do you see the sleeper Duncan is wearing?" Margaret continued in a voice straining for control. For the first time, Will focused on the fact that he didn't recognize his son's clothes. "I put MacKenzie's body into that sleeper more times then I can count. That was my baby up there screaming. That was my child so lost in a nightmare that she couldn't wake up. Please, Will . . . " She looked at him imploringly. "Please? I've tried to suss it out. It couldn't have been before Charlotte. There wasn't time. Between Charlie and Dunk? But Mackie would have said she was pregnant. I've been thinking and thinking . . . ." Her voice broke and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Alright," Will said softly. Then, taking a breath, he repeated it more loudly. "Alright. I'll tell you." Kenz'll kill me, he thought, but he couldn't just leave her mother in this state. "It was before . . . before she was embedded . . . before . . ."

"Billy . . ." It was said so softly, so compassionately. Mac, Margaret and Danny. Will thought about the only people who ever called him, Billy. There was no way to lie to this woman.

"I need to start by telling you something about me." She nodded, and reached for his hand. "The first time we . . . the first time I held Kenz after . . . I realized that I could lose everything else in my life and go on, but not her, I couldn't go on living if I lost her." Margaret smiled at him. He remembered sitting in the OR waiting room at Beth Israel, looking at the rings lying in the palm of his hand, hating the thought that taking his own life would hurt Charlie Skinner so much, but knowing that he could not return to the walking death that was his existence without MacKenzie. 

"That night . . . As soon as I had that thought," he continued, "I heard my father's voice in my head telling me that I was a fool. A loser like me would never be able to keep her. What did I have to offer Ambassador McHale's daughter?" He smiled a sad crooked smile. "And, I didn't even know about the whole Ailesbury business back then." The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I just kept hearing him repeating that I was nothing. I was too old for her. It was only a matter of time before she would leave me for a younger man . . . a better man."

"Will, why would you have imagined your father undermining you like that?"

"Because that's what he did. 'Undermining?' What a mild word!" Will gave a bitter, ironic chuckle, not unlike the ones he used to aim at Mac during her first year back as his EP. "My father was an abusive alcoholic, Margaret . . . a vicious, violent drunk." And so he told the Countess of Ailesbury about his childhood, the beatings, the broken bones, the constant verbal abuse, his attempts to shield his mother and siblings from the violence and finally his breaking a half-empty fifth of Jack Daniels over his father's head at the age of eleven, when the man had backed his mother into a corner and was knocking her head against the wall so hard that Will believed he might actually be killing her. MacKenzie's mother said nothing, but at some point during his narrative, she had begun to rub his back. "I want to reassure you," Will said when he was finished, turning toward her, "that I've never struck . . . "

"Will!" She interrupted him and brought her hands up to frame his face, again fixing him with those piecing Morgan eyes. "You don't have to reassure me! Mackie has told me that you are the gentlest man she has ever known, other than Ted. I've seen you with your wife and children. I have absolutely no concern about them. Are we clear on this?" As she spoke she had tightened her grip on his chin to keep him from looking away. When he nodded, she said, "good. Then we'll hear no more about reassurances," in the tone of someone used to being obeyed. She waited expectantly and Will realized that he was to continue his story.

"I fought him . . . my father . . in my head, every day. Most days I won . . . but I was always afraid . . . always . . . afraid of overwhelming her . . . Mac . . . of holding on too tightly . . . of touching her too much, moving too fast. We went together for two years. I couldn't bring myself to ask her to marry me . . . I was too afraid . . . that he . . . my father . . . would be right . . . that she would say, no." 

All Margaret could think of was what she and Ted had seen during those years, Mackie enraptured, enthralled by Will, hanging on his every word, his every gesture, terribly in love and frighteningly vulnerable.

Will swallowed hard and went on. "She was switching from one kind of pill to another and we were supposed to be careful or use some other protection, but we . . . we were reckless." Will seemed for the first time to be struggling to put his thoughts into words. "I knew she was late . . . her period hadn't started. She thinks that I didn't know she was pregnant then . . . because she didn't get the chance to tell me . . . I wouldn't give her the opportunity to tell me . . . But . . . " He looked up at Margaret and she gasped at the anguish etched in the lines on his face. "I knew." He whispered it like a confession. "I blocked it . . . blacked it out . . . the knowledge . . . the whole morning we broke up . . . for years. All the time she was gone. It didn't start coming back until after we were married and she was pregnant again." Margaret said nothing, so he continued.

"That went on . . . she was late . . . but she didn't say anything . . . for weeks . . . Her breasts . . . " he stopped abruptly realizing suddenly that he was talking to MacKenzie's mother.

She smiled sadly and reached up and pushed back a lock of his hair that had fallen onto his forehead. "Billy, I know what happens to a woman's breasts when she gets pregnant."

"Then . . . " He swallowed hard again, struggling for composure or to find the words, Margaret wasn't sure. "One morning at breakfast, she said that she had something that she needed to tell me. I thought maybe it would be . . . at last, you know . . . ." He paused again, like a man trying to talk despite intense physical pain. "But, what she said was . . . that Brian Brenner had come back into her life . . . that he'd asked her to see him and said that he still loved her and he'd been a fool to let her go. As she spoke, I heard . . . I heard my father laughing . . . and I knew . . . the pain was coming . . . I heard . . . his footsteps . . . in the hall. She was leaving me . . . Going back to Brenner . . . That was . . . that . . . was . . . why she hadn't told me . . . it wasn't mine . . . it wasn't my baby . . . " Will's control shattered as Margaret wrapped him tightly in her arms. He had never articulated his feelings like this to anyone, not even, he realized, to himself, but he knew for a certainty that he was at last speaking the truth.

"I remember . . . thinking that . . . I could wait . . . for her to . . . say it . . . or I could die . . . by my own hand. That seemed to be the . . . only action available . . . the only thing I could do for myself. So I stopped her . . . asked her . . . if she had slept with Brenner. I could see the answer in her eyes the second before she spoke. There was a roaring that started in my ears . . . so loud . . . ." Will put his hands up as if he could hear it again and needed to cover his ears. "I more saw her than heard her tell me that she had, she had slept with Brenner. And then . . . I killed myself. I told her that she was dead to me . . . that I wanted her gone . . . out of my life . . . out of my apartment . . . out of . . . that either she could resign from News Night or I would." 

Now it was Margaret's turn to cry, driven beyond containment by the knowledge of what hearing those words must have done to her child. "Mackie . . . " she said softly.

"She cried," he murmured on a shuddering breath. "She begged me to listen to her, and then when she realized that . . . I was leaving the apartment . . . she screamed and begged me to stay . . . and just listen. But I couldn't hear anything but my father's voice . . . crowing about being right. I couldn't feel anything except that it had all been . . . a lie . . . she had never cared for me . . . who could? She had betrayed me." His hands covered his face. "God forgive me, Margaret, I stepped over her . . . . She was on the floor . . . too hysterical to stand . . . and . . . I . . . stepped . . . over her . . . and walked . . . out the door." He looked up at her. "Funny, to this day, I don't remember where I went. I ended up in a hotel somewhere and followed my old man into a bottle, several bottles. When I returned to the apartment two days later, she was gone. I never saw her again until Northwestern."

"The baby? She aborted the baby?" Margaret asked, trying to make her voice neutral, thinking about him upstairs telling Mackie not to feel guilty, not to blame herself.

Will shook his head, and told her about Mac's attempts for months to get him to see her or at least talk to her, and then about Mac's going to Charlie and asking his help to get out of New York, and the deal that Charlie made with her to get her the gig in Kabul if she would stop here on her way. 

Margaret's eyes were huge, and a guttural groan escaped her lips, as she brought both hands up to cover her mouth. "When was this?" she asked after a moment, although she knew full well what the answer would be. 

"June 2007," Will replied slowly. 

"She was pregnant! Here!" Margaret couldn't seem to stop herself from stating the obvious aloud. "How far along?"

"I don't know exactly, twenty or twenty-one weeks when she got here, I suppose."

"My, God, Will!" she gasped. "She was . . . She looked . . . . She never said . . . . No wonder she acted the way she did. How could I have not known?"

"I think, actually, she's rather proud of having kept you from discovering." He tried to lighten the mood, feeling that it was in danger of crushing both of them. "That's why she left early. She didn't think she could hide it from you for much longer. That, and because her father was . . . "

"Yes," she interrupted him. "I recall what Ted was doing. I was so angry at him . . . that he couldn't see that he was torturing his own daughter. I left him for a little while," she added, shocking Will to the depths of his being. "They were the worst days of our marriage. But that's another story."

"Did she tell Charlie that she was pregnant?" Margaret asked, changing the subject.

"No."

"I thought not. He wouldn't have sent her to Kabul. Why ever not? I can understand her not telling her father and me. But, Charlie? I don't understand why . . . Didn't she know he could have . . . helped?

"Please don't ever ask her that. Yes, she . . . that's the problem. She believes that if she had told Charlie, we'd not be having this conversation, we'd be down in the village buying a cake decorated with race cars or dinosaurs or whatever 9-year-old boys like these days."

"I'm not sure I understand exactly."

"The baby. If he'd lived, he'd be nine tomorrow."

Margaret's sharp intake of breath was the only sound for several seconds. "The eighth of June. She left here three, no four, no three . . . that's right, three days before. In Kabul?" Will nodded. Compassion and horror suffused her features as comprehension dawned. "Oh, God, Will, twenty-three weeks . . . almost six months . . . that's not a miscarriage."

"No." And before she could pose another question, he told her the story of his son's birth and death. He had intended to give her the same abbreviated version that Mac had originally given him, but found that he couldn't stop himself from pouring out his heart, his grief and his guilt to this amazingly kind and compassionate woman. He told her about the Mac's statements that she hadn't called for help originally because she'd been in denial. He told her about Mac going into labor, alone in her hotel room, and about the unanswered calls to his cell phone, breaking down again as he expressed his remorse. When she comforted him, called him, Billy, again, told him not to torture himself with something he had done nine years before, he asked her how it was that she did not hate him.

She made herself smile although her heart was breaking, breaking for Mackie and breaking for Will. Leaning in she whispered, "because I love you, Billy. I love you like one of my own sons."

Then he told her that her grandson had been born alive, that Mac had baptized him, William Duncan, before he died, and that her daughter had hemorrhaged, and lacking the will to go on, or believing it was already too late for help, had called him one last time and then closed her eyes and waited to die. Now it was Margaret McHale's turn to sob uncontrollably as Will attempted to soothe her.

Hearing her mother's anguish, MacKenzie, who was standing just outside the door listening, having earlier been stopped from entering the morning room by the shock of realizing that her husband was describing his childhood to her mother, sank slowly to her knees and pressed her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her cries. She hadn't really fallen back to sleep, and so a few minutes after Will had left their room, she'd gotten up, dressed and made her way downstairs. She'd taken in most of the conversation from just outside the doorway. Her anger at Will's telling her mother about William had flared and just as quickly died as she'd listened to him describe his fears and emotions the morning she'd tried to tell him about Brian, about their baby. 

Will heard her first. He squeezed his mother-in-law's shoulder, then stood and walked in the direction from which the sound had come. "Kenz. Sweetheart," he said softly, crouching down and bringing her to her feet. He realized that he had no idea how long she had been in the hall or how much she had heard as he walked her into the morning room. She did not appear angry, he noted, as she clung to him wordlessly.

Then she spoke, saying that she understood, she understood everything and everything was going to be alright. Margaret walked over to them, pressed her body against MacKenzie's back and simply repeated the words, "Mackie, oh, Mackie." MacKenzie turned into her mother's arms as feelings of grief and reconciliation overwhelmed her. 

That night, as she lay in Will's arms, with her head tucked against his shoulder, MacKenzie replayed images of the day in her mind. Crying with her husband and mother until none of them had any tears left. Watching her father chase around the garden after Charlie on Nibbles, and reassuring a worried Will that the tiny pony was so old she couldn't possibly run away with their child. Telling Ted about his first grandson and telling Charlotte that she had once had a big brother who died. "Is he in the stars like Simba's daddy?" she had asked, tilting her little blonde head and looking for all the world like a miniature of Will. 

Somehow Mac knew with certainty that although the next day was William's birthday, there would be no nightmare that night. Maybe it was finally hearing Will talk about what he had felt the morning she had told him about Brian, or maybe it was at last acknowledging William and her actions in Kabul to her parents, but somehow the terrible grief and guilt that she had carried for so many years had eased that day. It was not gone, she had long ago accepted that it would never be gone, but it had transformed from something that weighed on her to something that was just a part of her. Shortly after sunset, they had all gone outside, while Will held Charlie in his arms and she picked out the star that was her brother William. Ted had carried Duncan, and as Margaret wrapped an arm around MacKenzie's waist, Mac's hand had moved down to her abdomen, covering the place where her youngest child was growing. Looking up into the deep blue sky, she felt totally at peace. 

Listening to Will's rhythmic breathing, MacKenzie felt her own eyes growing heavy. That was it, she thought, the feeling she'd been trying to name, to place. It was tranquility. A tranquility that had eluded her most of her adult life. A tranquility that she had not felt since childhood. "I love you, Billy," she whispered. "Everything's complete."


End file.
